


Challenge Four: TROPESMASH!

by Anonymous



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, Other, Summer Pornathon 2014
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-09
Updated: 2014-08-09
Packaged: 2018-02-12 10:15:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 95,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2105922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Entries for Challenge Four: TROPESMASH! for the 2014 Summer Pornathon.</p><p>The voting post can be found <a href="http://summerpornathon.livejournal.com/104570.html">here</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Group A (warnings)

**Author's Note:**

> Pairings and warnings included in chapters 1-4.
> 
> Chapters 5-8 are repeats of chapters 1-4 without pairing and warning information.

**#1**

**Pairing(s)** : Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warning(s)** : Voyeurism  
 **Tropes Smashed:** Exhibitionism, Object insertion

The sparkling water splashed across Arthur's shoulders and cascaded down his broad chest. His handsome face emerged from the waterfall. The camera made love to his manly jawline, his steely eyes, his blue lips...

“Cut!” Gwaine yelled. “Arthur, mate, you're supposed to look orgasmic, not close to croaking from hypothermia!”

“Fu-u-u-ck off! This blo-o-ody water is free-e-zing!”

“We did spend more time than expected, setting up the shoot,” Gwaine conceded. “Let's take a break, get you warmed up.”

Arthur struggled across the rocky riverbed and crawled from the water. “I ca-a-an't feel m-my feet!”

Merlin hurried to swathe him in a woollen blanket. 

Mithian pushed a steaming mug into Arthur's trembling hands. “You poor dear, suffering to help me and Elena launch our brand! You're our hero!”

Gwaine meanwhile studied the footage. “I'm sorry, man, but you look too focused and determined. This won't charm potential customers. You're supposed to demonstrate that the shower gel turns you on!”

“I can't look o-o-orgasmic while my p-privates are about to d-drop off from the cold!” Arthur's teeth were still chattering. “Try it yourself, you tosser!”

Gwaine flipped his glossy hair. “I _would_ do it myself, but I'm the poster boy for Pantreal's grooming products for men. They'd sack me and sue if I started promoting competing brands. I figured you'd be the next best thing. Good looks, the right body type.” 

Arthur rolled his eyes and finished his tea in grim silence.

Elena smiled at Gwaine. “Your confidence in our home-made organic products is so encouraging, sweetie.”

“Your products, my marketing skills, the sky's the limit, baby!” 

Arthur coughed. 

“Are you still too cold?” Merlin asked. He ducked into his boyfriend's arms, pulled their blanket cocoon closed, and wriggled against Arthur experimentally. 

“Things are far from normal,” he concluded. “Almost unresponsive. We need drastic measures!”

Arthur stepped back, spluttering. “You don't mean...?”

Merlin smiled angelically. He started rummaging through his backpack. “Must look orgasmic, they said.... ready to combust, even.... so I had the foresight to bring along _this_!” 

Triumphant, he held up a sturdy, bright-blue butt plug. 

Mithian and Elena shrieked. 

Gwaine raised an eyebrow. 

Arthur's eyes went wide.“Merlin! Put that away! 

“Not so fast. I can't put it where it belongs without lube. Fortunately, I've got some.”

Merlin started lubing up the plug. His expression was serene, but his eyes sparkled. 

Arthur groaned. “Merlin Emrys, you look so sweet and innocent, but you're a kinky, crazy, filthy _fiend_!”

“And that's why you can't get enough of me. All done!” Merlin stepped closer. “Your arse, if I may?”

Arthur looked into Merlin's eyes. Something very private passed between them. Trust acknowledged, challenge accepted, Arthur turned around to lean on the riverbank fence. He spread his legs.

Merlin at once disappeared under the blanket and went to work. His appreciative murmurs were muffled by the woollen cover.

“U-huh, that's it. Mmm-hmm, relax, good boy.” 

Suddenly he tore the blanket off and dropped it on the ground near Arthur's swimming trunks. “I can't _breathe_!” 

Arthur squirmed. Arse in the air, he was completely exposed. A new kind of shiver ran up his back. His firm buttocks clenched and unclenched. The partly-inserted plug was on full display between them. 

“You OK there?” 

Arthur widened his stance in response.

Merlin dropped to his knees and resumed coaxing the plug inwards. “Brilliant, there you go...“

“What if some little old lady comes walking by?” Elena whispered nervously.

“Sssshh,” Mithian hissed, riveted.

Arthur moaned.

“All set!” Merlin stood up, sweaty and grinning. 

Arthur laboriously pulled his swimming trunks back on before facing his friends. A rosy blush had spread across his skin. His eyes were glazed. The front of his trunks had filled out fit to bursting. He certainly did not look cold.

“Yes,” Elena chortled. “Merlin, you sex god! That's throes-of-passion perfection!”

“Well, hand him the gel. Let's start rolling.” Gwaine readied the camera. 

“Wait! There's one thing more!” Merlin rummaged in his backpack again. “The shoot will take some time, right? He'll have to keep at it? I think we'll also need... this.”

Arthur hid his face in his hands. 

The others laughed.

Merlin was brandishing a triple cock ring.

x – x – x 

The extended director's cut of their commercial went viral in no time.

Demand skyrocketed. Orgasmic shower gel was a huge success.

* * *

**#2**

**Pairing(s):** Sophia/Elena  
 **Warning(s):** Some consent issues, some (sort of) incest.  
 **Tropes Smashed:** Possessive behaviour, ritual, exhibitionism and incest (sort of).

She waited for her by the lake, far away from the prying eyes. When the girl was in sight, she closed her eyes, feeling the heat of the sun bear down on her and as though she couldn’t bear it any longer, she willed herself to faint, falling almost perfectly into the path of the girl’s horse.

When the girl jumped down and ran to her side, Sophia opened her eyes, glowing red and unblinking. “Túce hwón frec ðu, my love.”

Sophia stroked the Princess’s cheek. Her body was that of a human, a young woman now, but inside, buried deep somewhere was her little sister, cast out of Avalon imprisoned in an infant by the Elders. She knew she should take her to their father but she wasn’t ready to share her. _Not yet_.

She laid her down in the rushes by the waters edge, calling to Avalon to help her and to hide her sister. The Sídhe ignored the plight of two of its lost little girls.

***

She was Elena and she was _hers_. She was elegant and beautiful in a way only Sophia seemed to see but a bad fit for her sister. She tripped and fell, she knew nothing of magic. But she ran without a care, dove into dangerously deep lakes without a fear and kissed like she might never love again. Sophia traced the curves of Elena chest as it heaved, her sister’s true face showing itself. She wondered if this dawn would be the one that ruined everything. As soon as a prince of the realm came of age, she would have to take his life and Elena would have to give up hers to the creature buried under her breast. Sophia loved her sister, even though she only saw traces of her behind Elena’s sleeping features but along the way the balance had tipped, she found she loved Elena more. She _would not_ give her up.

***

Dragging Elena by the hand, they ran along the bridleways where Elena had been riding that day. Like fate repeating itself, Sophia placed her hand on Elena’s neck and guided her down into the rushes, this time with a kiss rather than a spell.

“We’ll be seen!” Elena shrieked as Sophia pulled off her sunshine yellow dress.

“And that bothers you?” Sophia asked, her fingers pinching into Elena’s hips

Elena grinned, a cheeky glint in her eyes, giggles rising. “Of course not, silly.”

Sophia rolled her eyes fondly and kissed her again. Nobody, not even her petulant nurse, would notice when Elena came back red faced and covered in mud, leaves in her hair and grass stains on her skirts. That was just Elena.

“We’re going to play a game,” Sophia informed her lightly even though her heart had never beat so furiously in her life. “You’re going to stay still for me and if you do,” Sophia leaned close to whispered, “We can fuck in the water.”

Elena nodded vigorously then stilled her head remembering she had to keep still. Elena would never know why she was truly drawn to the water like a kelpie. She would never truly know herself ever again. Sophia took out a little bag, the bell tassel jingling as she pulled it open and poured the contents over Elena’s bared skin. Wetting her fingers with the waters of Avalon, she drew words and shapes in the fairy dust and though Elena squirmed when she brushed over her nipples and her belly, she didn’t make a sound, not even when Sophia whispered foreign and forbidden words under her breath, marking her to all Sídhe eyes as _her human_ and burying her sister so deep that she could barely even touch her herself.

True to her word, when it was done, she swam into the lake with her love and pushing her back against the bank of the little island, she fucked her with the same fingers that had claimed her and that night she left her, breaking the same heart that had loved her. She would come back for her, she promised, when she bought her freedom with her human life.

***

“Well, did you find her?” Aulfric asked his daughter, having long listened to the rumours of the eccentric Princess of Gawant. “Is it her?”

“No, Father, merely a human,” Sophia lied without blinking. “A trifle odd perhaps but there is nothing special about her.”

“We’ll move on then,” Aulfric decided quickly. “I hear Camelot has a Prince.”

* * *

**#3**

**Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** none  
 **Tropes Smashed:** Power imbalance, clothes sharing, maybe a little possessive behaviour

Merlin had wondered where his purple jumper had gone. He supposed he should have known it had got left at Arthur’s. It was common enough that he find Arthur’s clothing among his things, so why not the other way round?

But for Arthur to wear it to Merlin’s class, taking his seat at the lab table with a smirk on his face, was something else entirely.

Arthur had, for once, arrived early. There were only about five other students in the room, giving them some privacy.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Merlin hissed in Arthur’s ear.

Arthur looked up at him innocently, but Merlin could see the light of mischief in his eyes. “Sorry?”

“You can’t wear my clothes to my class, I’ve _worn_ that here before!”

“God forbid someone think we buy from the same shops,” Arthur quipped, rolling his eyes.

“You’re going to stretch it with all your…” Merlin gestured to Arthur’s body, and that only made Arthur grin delightedly.

“My shoulders?”

“ _Yesem >.”_

Arthur glanced behind him. “Students coming in. Should probably head back up to the front.” He looked back to Merlin. “Quite excited for the lab by the way.”

Merlin sighed. “Just don’t get any chemicals on it.”

“Of course, sir, that’s why we wear lab coats.”

++

It was unsettling at first, a prickling knowledge in the back of Merlin’s mind as the class progress. But then, watching Arthur from the other side of the room, the prickling became more of a warmth.

 _Look at him_ , Merlin thought. _Wearing my shirt, walking around with my property on him. Thinks he’s clever. Thinks he’s entitled to it, like he’s—_

Merlin abruptly looked away and placed his palms on the table. Even so, he couldn’t help but finish his thought and feel the resulting hum of pleasure under his skin.

_Like he’s mine._

++

“Arthur.”

Arthur halted in the doorway and turned when Merlin called his name.

“Merlin.”

“Close the door.”

Arthur grinned. He closed the door behind him and locked it for good measure, then crossed the lab without Merlin having said a word. Merlin grabbed Arthur’s—his—shirt when he was within reach, desperately pulling him closer as he walked backward.

“In my office. Now.”

++

They hadn’t kissed long before Merlin dropped his pants, turned around to place his hands on the desk, and told Arthur to get on with it. Merlin felt the press of lubed fingers almost ridiculously quickly, as though Arthur had a small bottle of lube handy in his pocket.

Then there was the sound of a zip, a rustle of clothing, a rip of a condom wrapper, and finally Arthur’s cock was nudging its way inside.

Merlin reached back and clutched the denim of Arthur’s jeans, moaning as Arthur pushed deeper. No matter how many times they did this, it always felt as glorious as the first, Arthur sliding inside and fitting so perfectly. And Merlin always let out a small “ _Oh_ ” when Arthur was completely there.

Merlin usually moved first, rocking forward and back on Arthur’s cock to start up the rhythm. Then Arthur anchored his hands on Merlin’s waist and began to thrust forcefully in, each snap of his hips punctuated with gasps of breath.

When he sped up is when things got noisier—the slapping of thighs, Merlin’s keening moans, the knocking of the desk Merlin was bent over. Merlin loved doing it here best, and didn’t try to tell himself that it wasn’t because of the forbiddenness of it. The thought always got him so hard, his student pinning him down and having his way with him, Arthur’s cock pumping deep into him and hitting all the right nerves.

And of course there was the sliver of shame to go with it, making Merlin feel a bit dirty.

 _Professor Emrys likes to get fucked_ , his thoughts always taunted. _Yes, yes he really does._

“A-Arthur, touch me.”

Merlin was close, but he didn’t want his own hand bringing him off. He wanted Arthur’s, Arthur who came to his class wearing his shirt, Arthur who called him ‘sir’ in public but twisted his fingers in his hair behind closed doors.

Arthur’s fingers wrapped around Merlin’s cock and Merlin exhaled. “Oh, _fuck_ yes.”

Nearly there, so fucking close—

Merlin whined as he came, still clutching Arthur’s jeans. He sighed when Arthur inevitably pulled out, though under the disappointment that it was over was the pleasure of knowing it had happened at all.

Doing up his trousers, Merlin turned back to Arthur. As they kissed, he wondered if Arthur would want to go to dinner once the term was over.

* * *

**#4**

**Pairing(s):** Elena/Will  
 **Warning(s):** NA  
 **Tropes Smashed:** Rituals, Delayed Gratification

“I think we got a letter from your mum today,” says Elena as she pulls off her top.

“Blimey, really?” Will moans as he shuts the door behind them, shucking his trousers in the process.

“I think it's sweet how she pretends computers don't exist. Most days I wish my dad hadn't discovered Facebook.” Elena lets her skirt fall to the floor and flops down on the sofa.

“Yeah that's fine. But now I actually have to write her back.” Will throws his shirt onto the chair and falls back onto the couch with a huff.

Elena pets his hair with one hand and reaches for the TV controller. “Sexy Super Smash Brothers?”

“Sexy Super Smash Brothers,” Will nods.

There's some button pressing and some shifting to get into position, but eventually they sort themselves  
.  
“Come on mate, get it up! You still thinking about your mum?” Elena laughs as she strips off her pants.

“I can think of about eleven different uses for your mouth, all of which are better than what it's currently being utilized for,” Will grumbles, pumping his cock roughly.

“Ooh eleven, I think we're getting ahead of ourselves Will Neslor.”

“Yeah yeah, are we doing this or what? Timed battled?” Will grabs a controller and lies back on the sofa.

“Mmm, I feel like KO's tonight,”Elena bites her lip.

Will groans. “Noooooo, that's not fair, KO battles are for special occasions!”

Elena ignores his protests and mounts his hips. “Whoops too late I pressed start! Can you see okay?”

“Budge a bit to your left,” Will sits up and his eyes roll back a bit at the sudden friction. “Yeah that's fine.”

The announcer counts down in his booming voice and Elena takes the opportunity to give a few gentle rocks.

“How many lives do we have?” Will asks shakily.

“Seven,” Elena replies cheerfully.

“Oh god. I'm not going to make it.”

“But you have to,” Elena sing-songs.

The battle begins and Elena bobs up and down mercilessly.

“Easy Elly, give a bloke a chance. And I can't see the screen when you bounce like that.”

“Sorry, just wanted to get a brisk start.”

The battle progresses ruthlessly. They don't target each other, but they also don't shy away from the opportunity to chuck a capsule or two. All the while, Elena gyrates steadily; sometimes up and down, sometimes back and forth. When she gets a particularly exciting combo she clenches down around his cock. When she gets the smash hammer, she completely ignores the battle, opting to press the controller to her clit, letting the vibrations cascade through her. Her eyes flutter shut and her breath comes out in little pants, like she's surprised at the orgasm shaking through her core.

“Fuck Elly, you're so hot, when you do that,” Will leans forward and sucks a nipple into his mouth.

Elena's eyes fly open and she uses the last of her hammer power-up to smash Will off the screen.

“Oi!” Will's mouth drops open and Elena can't help but laugh at how betrayed he looks.

“Sorry stud, you know the rules.”

“I'll show you the rules. Stop dodging, that's cheating,” Will grumbles.

“No, cheating is doing this,” Elena stops bouncing and grinds her hips in slow, determined circles.

Will lets out a string of nonsense syllables but manages to stay focused on the screen. When he's got her down to her last life, Elena gives up the pretence of fighting fairly and rides him mercilessly.

“Fuck Elena, that's not, cheating, ughhh,” his grasp on the English language is lost as Elena bounces hard enough to leave bruises.

“I'm gonna, I'm gonna,” he moans gutturally, “I'm going to cheat just as bad as you you dirty charlatan.”

Elena shrieks as Will tips her backwards and presses her down into the sofa.

“I can't see!”

“I know.”

Fruitlessly, Elena presses buttons at random to fend off his attacks, but when her controller vibrates again, she knows it's over.

“Oh thank god,” is all Will can say before he doubles over and thrusts his tongue into Elena's mouth.

Elena answers with her own tongue, and wraps her legs around his hips, forcing him deeper. He comes in long, hot pulses, groaning with satisfaction. He pulls out slowly and plants a kiss on her forehead.

“To the victor go the spoils.”

“Oh please, I let you win.”

Will sits up, affronted. “ As if you could have stopped me.”

“You go on thinking that love. What shall we play next?”

* * *

**#5**

**Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** Human/non-human sex, Possibly dub-con if you squint?  
 **Tropes Smashed:** Possessive Behavior, Clothes Sharing, Mirrors

“My Arthur. You came, little prince.”

Merlin was leaning against an aged tree trunk with a coy smile. No matter how many times Arthur saw him, he would still look just as stunning. The features too sharp, flawless, and delicate and ears too pointed to be quite human, the milky, sinfully smooth skin of his bare torso that seemed to radiate the moonlight itself, and the breeches made of nothing but leaves that had wound themselves around him. 

Arthur still remembered how frightened he’d been as a child, the first time he’d seen one of the faerie folk enter the throne room for an audience with his father. Now, burning need was all that reared up in him whenever it sensed Merlin’s proximity. 

As soon as Arthur’s cloak dropped, Merlin’s face went ablaze with desire.

“You wore it,” Merlin’s words were half-growled, his eyes taking in the white and gold-stitched faerie tunic Arthur wore. 

“Like you told me to.”

Merlin blurred forward until Merlin’s inhuman heat was finally, blissfully burning him from the outside in.

“Good. You’ve been good.” 

Arthur trembling as Merlin’s marble lips brushed over the spot where his pulse raced.

“Now if any other faerie even comes near you…” Merlin’s hands tightened on bare skin after making quick work of Arthur’s pants “…they’ll know you’ve already been claimed. They’ll sense my magic on you, around you…” Arthur gasped, rising on his toes as two of Merlin’s fingers sank into him. “…in you. They’ll sense me leaking out of you, and they’ll know you’re mine, Arthur.”

Once clothes were gone, Merlin tumbled them into a patch of moss and flowers that seemed to embrace them. 

“Mine,” Merlin whispered again, just before Arthur quickly unraveled into a mewling, quivering mess when Merlin spread him wide and began to suck against his hole. Arthur never felt more filthy, nor such dire need as he arched up against Merlin’s mouth and Merlin hungrily responded, lapping at him with long, wide strokes of his tongue before licking deep into Arthur and then sealing his lips in a deep kiss to his hole to suck out the saliva. 

Moaning, Arthur’s legs fell open all the way and he buried one hand in Merlin’s hair. He would never get tired of the way Merlin pleasured him like Arthur was the finest banquet he’d ever tasted. 

With Merlin’s heat pushing Arthur’s legs up and wide apart, Merlin slid in until Arthur was moaning, then crying out as Merlin’s inhuman fire pierced him more deeply than anything else could, consuming as Arthur willingly, more than happily gave himself over to the blaze of indescribable pleasure that licked out to his fingers and his hair.

Merlin’s porcelain-smooth body melted into him as they moved together, Merlin’s hips snapping forward hard enough to make Arthur shout and beg for more each time. 

Then, with just a blink of his eyes, Merlin had them up on their knees while Merlin kept fucking from behind, Arthur’s hips and leaking cock bouncing roughly with the force of Merlin’s pace. Wisps of Merlin’s magic that poured uncontrollably from him crystallized in the air, until suddenly Arthur could see the two of them from any angle. Merlin’s lips sealed to his neck, and Arthur watched with helpless sounds as bright red marks bloomed along his throat, Merlin’s delicate hands roamed his chest, and Merlin’s thick cock somehow plunged and disappeared into his body again and again. 

“Mine,” Merlin breathed against teeth marks on Arthur’s neck beginning to bloom purple. Arthur could do nothing but whine and nod, watching as his body obeyed, his hole stretched enough to welcome all of Merlin, clenching around him each time he drew out, as if not wanting to let him go.

Arthur came with part of a sob, and he had to change their positions to work through his exquisite, painful sensitivity.

Merlin’s magic mirrors disintegrated, leaving only moonlight as Arthur slowly rode him, working his way down the pulsing length that both seared and soothed. He was getting sore, the sparks of friction painful, yet taking Merlin so incredibly deep each time he seated himself in Merlin’s lap made inferno that melted everything away – everything except where he and Merlin were one. 

Merlin tugged him closer while his release pumped into Arthur. Gasping for breath, Arthur came again in a rush, and Merlin kissed him through the sweet scorch. 

To soothe the cold emptiness after Merlin slowly slid out and his hot seed poured from Arthur, Merlin buried his head once again between Arthur’s trembling, wide-open legs. Arthur made broken noises when Merlin’s tongue stroked his stretched hole. Merlin soothed his lover’s burn with the last trickles of his own quickly chilling release. He combined both their seeds on his tongue, tenderly licking Arthur closed again and sealing their unity inside him.

* * *

**#6**

**Pairing(s):** Morgana/Morgause  
 **Warning(s):** Slight Dub-con depending how you look at it.  
 **Tropes Smashed:** Incest and Age Differences

There was a time when Morgana would climb into her older sister’s bed because of a bad dream or simply just for the reason of being close to her. She was embarrassed to be experiencing such a thing at eighteen but Morgause had been away at college all semester and she missed her. It was what prompted her to go to her sister’s room that night.

“Having trouble sleeping?” Morgause asked with in a teasing voice on her face but despite having the blankets pushed back. It was an obvious invitation to come lay down with her.

She nodded and gladly accepted the invitation. “I missed you.”

“You must have missed me if you’re crawling into bed with me.”

Morgana chose not to answer that statement. “Goodnight, Morgause.”

“Do you remember the last time we slept in the same bed together?” Her tone didn’t contain a hint of teasing this time. It caught Morgana off guard and she laid there, unable to think of something to say. “Sister?”

She sighed and rolled over so her back was now facing Morgause. “Why do you have to bring it up, Morgause? We agreed that what happened last year was a mistake.”

“I’ll take that as a yes then.”

“Goodnight, Morgause.”

Morgause ignored her. “In your haste to not get caught for sneaking out after curfew you went to enter the house through your window but in your drunken state climbed through mine instead. You clung to me as soon as you spotted me and begged me not to tell mom. I agreed, of course, and you put your arms around me with the cutest flush staining your cheeks.”

Morgana closed her eyes. “I said stop it.”

“No,” she said. “You said I was the most amazing sister in the world and then kissed me. I didn’t respond because I was in a deep state of shock. It was only after you pulled away and started to run towards the door did I react.”

She said nothing.

“Do you remember what happened next?” she prompted and finally Morgana started to crack.

“I said I had been wanting to do that for ages and begged you not to hate me. You prompted me to lay down with you like old times which made my heart soar. I expected you to hate me.”

Morgause slipped a hand over her waist and which started to make its way upwards. She wanted to protest but found herself unable. All Morgana could focus on the fingers gently tugging and rolling her nipples. “I touched you just like this and you cried out so loudly that I was sure you’d wake up mom.”

“I didn’t though,” Morgana whispered. She suddenly brought her hand up to her mouth when the touches became firmer.

“Only because I had to silence you with a kiss,” Morgause chuckled. “Will I have to do that again now?”

The harder her sister tugged on her nipples the harder she bit down on her hand. She wanted to tell her to stop but said nothing of the sort. Morgana kept silently encouraging her with her muffled moans and squirming body.

“What happened next?” Morgause whispered in her ear before gently sucking on the lobe and gently worrying it between her teeth.

Morgana moved her hand and sucked in a breath. “You pushed me onto my back and-”

She was stopped in mid-sentence when Morgause shoved the blankets off her and rolled her onto her back. A pair of slender hands quickly and effortlessly pulled off the clothes on her bottom half in one go. It was an admirable feat.

“Was it something like this?” Morgause murmured in a gentle, yet teasing voice.

Morgana wanted to answer but shoved her hand back in her mouth as Morgause spread her legs. It was a smart move because the second her sister’s soft tongue touched her dripping folds, Morgana cried out.

“Why Morgause?” Morgana whispered as she was slowly coaxed to orgasm.

Morgause pulled away a fraction and gently pinched Morgana’s clit which caused her to whimper. “Because if I had to ignore what happened for a moment longer I would go crazy. I don’t care about the fact that we’re sisters. I want you and you want me and it’s all that matters. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

She smiled. “Then come for me, lovely sister of mine.”

Morgana did as she told and came with a cry.

* * *

**#7**

**Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** None  
 **Tropes Smashed:** Masturbation/Object Insertion/Knife Play/Power Imbalance

“On the rug,” Arthur ordered calmly. 

Merlin hesitated. It wasn't that he didn't _want_ this, but taking orders from Arthur to polish his armour and fetch him a snack from the kitchens was different. This was intimate. There was no going back from this. 

It started with a comment about the dagger Arthur had gotten Morgana and an innocent question asking after why the knights snickered about polishing their swords. Then Arthur had to go and notice how uncomfortable Merlin got when Arthur stepped out of the bath. Merlin's eyes lingered a little too long at the water dripping down the prince's naked body. 

Now, here Merlin was, totally exposed. He had never been nude before anyone else like this. His heart was racing and his palms were sweating, but a heat was pooling in his groin having Arthur's eyes focused on him. A surge of power rushed through him when he saw that Arthur was straining against his own breeches. 

“Don't cover yourself up,” Arthur said. “Let me see you. For someone outside as much as you, your skin is still so soft and fair.”

Merlin flushed at the compliment. 

“Lie back on the rug and spread your legs for me.” 

Merlin moved without thinking, the commanding tone of Arthur's voice made him ignore that he was in the prince's chambers, sprawling out on a rug finer and worth more than his mother's home in Ealdor. 

“Wider, Merlin. Let me see everything.” 

Merlin slowly complied, Arthur's soft gasp urging him on. Then Arthur pressed a vial of oil in his hands.

“Fingers first,” Arthur ordered. 

Merlin fumbled with the bottle but managed to pour some on his fingers. He had touched himself there before, in private, but he had never been bold enough to push a finger all the way in. With Arthur watching him, expression eager, Merlin ignored his own racing pulse. He didn't want to disappoint Arthur. 

After he got over the oddness of the sensation, it started to feel good. Very good. 

“Slide it in and out,” Arthur said softly. “Use more oil and add a second.”

Merlin hesitated.

“You don't know how tempting you look. Touching yourself that way. Your hole is so greedy. You want it don't you? You want more?”

Merlin groaned and pushed in a second finger. 

Both men were panting audibly as Merlin started rocking against his hand, opening himself up. The room was growing warm, Merlin's back was sticking to the heavy rug. 

“Are you ready for it?” Arthur's voice sounded steadier than he looked. 

Merlin bit his lip and nodded. Arthur handed him the sheathed dagger. 

“Get it nice and slick.” 

Merlin's hands shook so much that Arthur had to help him. Then Arthur sat back on his heels, his eyes glazed over with lust. The hilt of the dagger was cool against Merlin's skin. He traced it around the rim of his hole, wondering how it could possibly fit inside him. 

“That's it, darling,” Arthur choked out. “Push it in, yes, just like that.” 

Merlin pushed the handle in slowly. 

“It feels good, doesn't it? Feels good to have something that big filling you up.”

Merlin couldn't answer, at least not in words. The cool metal inside him was pushing against him in a place he didn't know existed, but the sensation was so much that tears started prickling at his eyes. 

“Pull it out. Not all the way. Yes, like that. Push it back in harder. It'll feel good. I promise.” 

Arthur coaxed him through it. Murmuring bits of praise as his eyes raked over Merlin's body. 

Merlin felt like he was on fire. His skin was flushed from being so exposed, from being so maddeningly aroused. It was more than he had ever felt.

“Next time I'll run the tip of the blade down your body, slide it down your chest. Next time it'll be my prick inside you. Now that I know you can take it.” 

With Arthur's words there was a final rush of heat, and Merlin couldn't hold back if he wanted to. His back arched as he came hard, pulsing all over his abdomen. 

His eyes had closed involuntarily, but he felt Arthur's presence beside him, steadying his hand as he pulled the dagger out. 

“I'll take such good care of you, Merlin” Arthur murmured against his skin.

* * *

**#8**

**Pairing(s):** Morgana/Morgause  
 **Warning(s):** half-sibling incest, power imbalance, knifeplay, dubious use of Old English  
 **Tropes Smashed:** Object Insertion, Incest, Power Imbalance, Rituals, Knife/Sword Play

 

Morgana's not sure she's supposed to enjoy the ritual this much.

She's lying, fully naked, on a stone altar. Her arms and legs are splayed wide, bound to the stone with rope so tightly that she can barely move. A strip of fabric from one of Morgause's tunics serves as a crude blindfold. She wants to attribute her racing heartbeat to the fact that she's utterly exposed and defenceless, but suspects it has more to do with how, robbed of sight and movement, her other senses are going wild. The sound of the woods is almost muted over the blood rushing in her ears, but her body is attuned to Morgause. She can only focus on the soft pad of bare feet against the forest ground as her sister moves around the altar, lighting candles and etching runes into the dirt. With every inhale, Morgana can smell Morgause's scent on the rough cloth, sending a pulse of heat and dizzying excitement between her spread legs.

"Everything is in place, sister." Morgause's voice sounds darker than usual.

Morgana just breathes, relishing in the pull of the ropes against her skin. "I'm ready."

The lightest brush of hair against her cheek is the only warning Morgana gets before she feels a warm, slender finger on her lips.

"Open."

The taste of skin and sweat and dirt instantly flood her mouth. She barely waits for Morgause's command before she sucks on the finger, tracing the whorls of her sister's fingerprint. A whine rises in her throat when Morgause removes her finger, but Morgana cuts it off before it can fully escape.

"Good girl." The words are a hot puff of air against Morgana's ear, and she shivers. The first touch of Morgause's cool, wet finger on her forehead sends a wave of goosebumps across her skin, but she forces herself to stay still as Morgause uses the saliva to draw the rune. It wouldn't do to mess this up.

The moment the rune is drawn, Morgause draws back completely. "Spátl, heorudrync, nnolsæd. Borgfæstaþ ond áfæstnaþ." The words ring dark and commanding in Morgana's ears, rough with power and promise. The last word is accompanied by the touch of a hand. Morgana inhales sharply at the feel of cold steel against her skin, the edge of Morgause's knife. The moment's pause feels like it lasts forever, but finally she feels the sharp, sweet give of her flesh beneath the edge. The knife makes three small cuts on one arm before doing the same on her other. The constant, murmured chant of words makes the sting of pain easier to deal with. Morgana's not sure if it's the way the pain dulls into hot pleasure or the low buzz of power she can feel dancing across her skin, but she's getting slicker every minute. Not being able to squeeze her legs together to ease the pressure is driving her mad.

The chanting stops for a moment, broken only by a dark chuckle. "Easy, sister. Almost, sweet, I promise." For a moment, there's only the sound of fabric rustling, and then Morgana feels the the hot, heavy press of a body atop her navel. The sound must have been Morgause removing her own clothes, for Morgana can only feel skin and the scratch of pubic hair where her sister is now straddling her. "Six more," Morgause murmurs, and sucks a kiss into Morgana's hipbone.

The feel of wet lips and curled hair on her sensitive body makes Morgana moan, aching for some form of release. The three slashes on each side of her inner thighs only seems to heighten her arousal. The chanting begins again as three fingers reach between Morgana's legs, playing with the wetness before slipping in. It's torture, not being able to move into the press of her sister's hand as Morgause fucks into her at an almost brutal pace, and Morgana can feel where the rope has broken the skin of her wrists and ankles. "Please." The word, breathy and high-pitched, slips before she can control it, but it has its intended effect. Morgause takes pity on her and removes her fingers, replacing them with the hilt of the knife. It's blunt and broad and fills her cunt so wonderfully, and it only takes a half a dozen thrusts before she's coming all over the blade and Morgause's hand.

Over the aftershocks, she only just registers Morgause's fingers, slick and sticky with Morgana's juices, tracing one last rune onto her stomach.

* * *

**#9**

**Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):**  
 **Tropes Smashed:** Clothes Sharing, Biological Imperative

They had known something could go wrong during this visit; a far-away kingdom that wanted diplomatic relations with Camelot. That’s why they had made the switch. Morgana had sensed a magical element to the danger that awaited them, and Merlin was of course much better equipped to deal with those. 

Merlin had posed as King Arthur and everything had run smoothly. Arthur was sure Merlin was enjoying himself, bossing Arthur around. Arthur had been enjoying himself too, a little bit too much. He couldn’t help it. Merlin ordering him to polish armour and saddle his horse – it was strangely erotic.

From Merlin’s quick, evil smiles and casual touches, Arthur knew Merlin was aware of the effect his new persona was having on Arthur. 

He’d been a fool to think this could be just fun and games. Arthur started to regret allowing Merlin to walk straight into the line of fire. Now Merlin was missing and he was running around dressed in servant clothes. He’d never fully appreciated being able to wear armour and carry around a sword. 

Though there were advantages to being a servant. Shoulders hunched and gaze averted, he posed as a local stable boy, while looking for his horse. He found her but just as he wanted to reach for the lock a pair of arms pulled him back and a hand covered his mouth to muffle his scream.

"We need to be quick. Saddle horse and we're off," a voice whispered in his ear. Merlin! Arthur’s heart skipped a beat. 

He quickly did as he was told, grabbing the saddle and tightening the straps. Merlin had his back turned to him. If anyone would approach them, boy or soldier, they wouldn't know what hit them.

Merlin was still wearing Arthur’s red shirt, the one Gwen had taken in so it would fit Merlin, his chainmail and armour. He looked like a king. 

Merlin climbed behind Arthur on the horse. "Ride out. Head straight for the gates," Merlin commanded. 

"We’ll be seen!" Arthur protested, turning around to meet Merlin's gaze.

"No we won't." Merlin's eyes were molten. 

They weren't seen or stopped, though they passed a dozen of armed men. Instead they rushed out of the gates towards freedom.

"What happened?" Arthur asked when they'd reached shelter. 

Merlin smiled. His eyes still hadn't changed back. He looked giddy and hysterical. Magic was a third presence in the space around them.

"He has a sorcerer. We duelled. He was more powerful than I expected."

Arthur shook his head. "I should never have allowed you to take my place. It's far too dangerous."

"But it worked," Merlin giggled, "I won."

Arthur stared at his manservant. Something was off. It reminded him of that time he'd found some of his knights behaving oddly. Mushrooms, Leon had explained, they were high. Merlin was high now. High on magic. Eyes still glowing.

"You really need to fuck me right now." Merlin said matter-of-factly. 

"What?" 

"Yes. Arthur Pendragon. I command you to suck my cock and then fuck me senseless. Tonight I'm the bloody king of Camelot and I have too much magic in my system. It needs to get out." With that he was drawn into a kiss.

Before Arthur had time to respond, Merlin was palming his cock through the flimsy breeches that were part of Merlin's servant clothes. "Hmm. So hard already."

"You look so fucking hot in my armour." Arthur muttered.

"Good. You can start by getting me out of it."

Arthur took Merlin's place as a servant again, ridding him of shoulder pieces and chainmail. He managed to be just as clumsy as Merlin tended to be, in his rush to get him naked. 

Merlin's cock was already leaking. "Please, please, please." Merlin cried when Arthur sucked in the tip. 

It didn't take long before Merlin came. Arthur could swear the whole room lit up with Merlin's magic. 

"Get inside of me," Merlin ordered, still sounding as desperate as before. 

Arthur eagerly complied. He easily slid inside. It was Merlin’s magic acting unusual that had made him slick and stretched. Fucking him with abandon, Merlin came soon after, Arthur fucking him through his orgasm. And the next. And the next. Every time he came, Merlin’s eyes returned a little closer to their normal blue colour. When Arthur finally came himself, the eyes looking up at him were familiar and smiling. 

"We're not doing that again." Arthur said, after he’d pulled out of Merlin, feeling drained. 

"Oh, yes we are."

* * *

**#10**

 

**Pairing:** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warnings:** Some violence, small, confined spaces, and a lot of accidental awkward touching.  
 **Tropes Smashed:** Forced Proximity and Accidental Stimulation

 

Another slash of Arthur's sword brought down two more bandits, but it was no use: they were outnumbered. The clamor of steel against steel rang all around them as yet another wave of outlaws descended into the ravine, seemingly out of nowhere. Merlin saw five heavily armed men crowd immediately around Arthur while two others slipped behind him, unnoticed.

“Arthur!” Merlin cried, sending an involuntary burst of magic in the direction of Arthur’s assailants. Almost at the same moment, Merlin felt a large, heavy blow on the side of his head, strong enough to knock him over. 

And then everything went black.

***

“The Lady Morgana sends ‘er regards.”

Merlin woke to the feeling of something cold and heavy weighing down his wrists: shackles. Immediately, Merlin tried to magic them off. Nothing happened.

“Lady Morgana ‘ad those made special,” a large man said, leering. “Said they’d keep _you_ out o’ trouble.”

Merlin stared at his captor with growing concern as the man grabbed him roughly by the arm and hauled him to his feet before steering him towards a black covered wagon. Another man pulled aside the tarp that hid the wagon’s cargo from view to reveal a small cage with a person already inside.

“Get in,” said the second man, shoving Merlin’s shoulder. Before he could try, the first man picked him up and stuffed him inside. His friend locked the cage and dropped the tarp, and the world plunged into semidarkness.

“Get _off_ me!” came a voice from below him. Merlin knew that voice.

“Arthur?!” Merlin said in disbelief.

“Are you deaf, Merlin? Get _off!_ ”

It was then that Merlin realized he was sprawled on top of Arthur with his head pressed in between Arthur’s legs. To Merlin’s credit, he did try to move, but with fettered hands, a raging blush, and little to no space, repositioning seemed like an impossible task. Eventually, Arthur gave an exasperated sigh.

“Bloody hell,” Arthur said, flipping them over with his apparently unshackled hands. He positioned himself above Merlin with knees on either side of his waist and _man alive_ , Merlin thought. This arrangement was really not much better. 

It was going to be a long journey.

***

The “most comfortable” position, Merlin found, did not mean the most comfortable position for _him_. They shifted every once in a while, but usually, at least one of Merlin’s limbs ended up falling asleep, and at least one of Arthur’s ended up against Merlin’s crotch. This was exceedingly problematic, as his constant proximity to Arthur was not conducive to a well-behaved cock. He was sure that Arthur must have felt his erection at least once, but Arthur didn’t say anything, and so neither did Merlin. 

***

“Um, Arthur?” Merlin asked after finally switching positions.

“What now?”

“Are you….” Merlin trailed off and shifted slightly against Arthur, feeling something hard poking his back. “Is that…?”

Arthur scoffed. “No,” he said, and then added, defeatedly, “Yes. But you’re one to talk. You’ve been sporting one this whole time.”

Merlin made an embarrassing noise that he promptly pretended he hadn’t made. He could feel Arthur’s breath on his ear, feel Arthur’s reciprocated interest pressing against him. Merlin shifted again, almost involuntarily, and—

“Damn you,” Arthur said, and for the second time that day, he moved on top of Merlin. “You’ve been driving me _mad_ ever since we got in here.”

“But you didn’t _say_ anything,” Merlin groaned, hips jolting upward to meet Arthur’s. The king immediately reached down to press a hand against Merlin’s erection, rubbing him through the cloth. “I’ve been sitting here— _God, yes_ — for _hours_ , and you never—”

Arthur slipped his hand into Merlin’s trousers, effectively cutting him off. “ _Damn it, Merlin,_ he said, panting. “What was I supposed to say? ‘Oh, we’ve been captured, but in the meantime, would you like to get off with me in a wooden cage?’”

Merlin didn’t have the words to formulate a reply, so instead he focused on the feeling of Arthur’s hand on his cock and the sound of his breath and the smell of him, distinct and familiar. He was close to losing it, almost embarrassingly close, and so was Arthur. When they came, Merlin decided that it had been well worth the wait.

***

Eventually, the knights found them.

“Took you long enough,” Arthur grunted as someone broke the lock on their cage.

Gwaine raised an eyebrow. “Has it been that horrible?”

“Well,” Arthur conceded, glancing at Merlin, “not all of it.”

* * *

**#11**

**Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** Possibly underage, depending on country of origin.  
 **Tropes Smashed:** Examples (some more prevalent than others) of: Object insertion, biological imperative, forced proximity, masturbation, pornography, comeplay, possessive behavior, clothes sharing, accidental stimulation.

 

Wrong. Merlin's all wrong. Everything is wrong. _Wrong wrong wrong._

Still doesn't stop him from _fucking nesting_ only bare metres away from Arthur's dorm bed, rolling around in Arthur's manky, sweatysmelly _awesome_ alpha-pheromoned fucking t-shirt, as if he could rub the scent right into himself, until there is so much acrid, tangy _alpha_ in the room everything will just implode upon itself.

Alphas don't do this. Don't want this.

And neither does Merlin.

**

He still doesn't want it as he eyes Arthur's cricket bat and just– _thinks things_. Things that he doesn't want.

'S curiosity.

And this, of course, is how he finds himself – and it is _finding_ , because none of this is his fault really, not when every single bleeding day Merlin is engulfed by all of this, practically inhaling Arthur with every breath, and there is _nowhere else to go_ to get away from it – stretched out across his bed, with a cricket bat handle shoved as deep within his arse as he can get it, watching some fucking porn clip where this alpha is getting _reamed_ by another, all dirty, squelching sounds and harsh moans, as the top manages to shove his knot in there, and, oh _shit_ , it must be so fucking tight like that. _Fuck_.

Angling the handle until it's grinding against his prostate, Merlin furiously strokes himself, whimpering with need as Arthur gets all mixed up in there in his brain – Arthur's giant knot dragging across his prostate with every stroke, Arthur reaching around and gripping Merlin's knot so _fucking hard_ , the way only large, rough alpha hands can, twisting and squeezing so tightly Merlin would see the whole fucking galaxy behind his eyelids. And then– _then_ , Merlin could slam Arthur onto his front and shove his cock in and Arthur would be able to just fucking take it, to give back as good as he could get, and his arse would feel so fucking perfect around Merlin's knot. _So perfect_ –

Merlin comes with a manic yell all over Arthur's stolen shirt.

(And doesn't imagine rubbing his come all over Arthur's broad chest, marking him, claiming him in a way that coming all over his shirt cannot satisfy.)

**

When Arthur finally stumbles back after another day of boarding school drudgery, he simply flushes at the heady, pervasive, stifling air in the room and immediately flings himself into bed, burrowing under the blankets.

**

The first time he'd met Arthur, it'd been a _fight_.

Ragged snarls and biting sarcasm echoing around the room, they'd bared their teeth at each other, bodies thrumming with vicious, tightly-wound energy.

Merlin's never wanked to anything more.

Since then it's been smooth sailing. A little too smooth, actually.

Sometimes, when Arthur doesn't notice him looking, Merlin catches a flash of something in his eyes, an eerily familiar flush, and glances at places _that don't need glancing_ and set a rabbit-beat in Merlin's heart.

**

The next day everything goes to hell.

It starts normally enough, with Merlin chasing Mordred off from where he's fucking with Arthur's stuff – no one fucks with Arthur's stuff except Merlin, okay. Just– no one gets to touch Arthur's things, or Arthur in general, or anything.

_No one_.

Arthur is his to fuck with, and his alone, even if that makes him _really fucking weird_. That's just the way it is.

But then an omega gets loose on campus, god knows how, and all the alphas _lose their shit_. And the pheromones and the _hyper-masculinity_ of it all – it goes straight to Merlin's brain, until he's certain that he's going into _heat_ and he will actually fucking die if he doesn't come.

It's all an accident, a confluence of events that once set in motion cannot be stopped, but it still doesn't change the fact that Arthur comes back to find him humping _Arthur's bed_ and practically crying with frustration, no longer caring what Arthur thinks, what _anyone_ thinks, he just _needs_.

Dimly, in the back of his mind, Merlin is terrified, but Arthur looks just as wrecked and out of control as Merlin feels and then he reaches down and _fucking squeezes_ Merlin's knot so tightly it's as if all the air has been sucked out of the room and compressed around his _dick_.

It's too much and everything Merlin's ever wanted and he can't fucking breathe and when he finally starts to come he _screams_ and it doesn't stop, going on and on and on.

**

Later, Merlin smiles.

Arthur's all wrong too.

* * *

**#12**

Pairings: Arthur/ Mordred; Merlin/Arthur (unrequited-for now!)   
Warnings/ Tropes: Power imbalance; age difference; exhibitionism; student/teacher relationship 

Wednesday night: 

“Can I touch you?” Mordred whispered, his breath hot and sultry by Arthur’s ear, his hand cupping Arthur’s hardening cock through his trousers. 

Arthur swallowed, “ Yes...Yes.” He really shouldn’t, not here, not with him, but… the guilt he felt was washed away by the wave of pleasure when Mordred eased his dick out and took him in hand. “Oh… yes!” 

Arthur gripped at the back of the garden bench and gasped. Just next to them, on the other side of the tall hedge, he could hear people talking and walking by, but he didn’t give a fuck at the moment. Everything was focussed on how good it felt, how Mordred was kneading and thumbing him, sparking feelings through his groin, creating a tightening sensation upwards through to his stomach, until, all too soon, Mordred gave a particularly strong tug and Arthur came with a weak grunt. 

Arthur came back to himself with a sickening jolt. What had he done? He was the one in charge, the mentor, he should have known better; and in the University gardens, of all places, where people could have walked in on them at any time. Urgh. 

Mordred was wiping off the cum and tucking Arthur’s dick back into his pants. Arthur’s face was hot with shame. He had no one to blame but himself. He buried his face in his hands. 

"That was so good, Mister Pendragon, Professor, " Mordred murmured, trying to kiss him. "I've never done it in the open before." Arthur let him, wrong as it felt. After the handjob, what was a kiss? 

Arthur was thankful that it was too dark to see much. He muttered about needing to rush home, stuffed his shirt back into his trousers, grimacing at the wet patch of cum on it. 

They walked to school building in silence. Mordred was beaming widely. Arthur schooled his face into a mask, and headed stiffly for his car. 

****

Thursday night: 

M: We had fun, didn't we? Wanna hang out this Saturday? 

A: We did. But, Mordred, I need to tell you, I can't do that again with you. 

M: Why not?! :( 

A: It's not right, I told you before, I don't sleep with students. 

M: Come on, it's not child abuse, we're consenting adults. 

A: I'm old fashioned, okay? 

M: More like a sucker for keeping stupid rules. Stupid. 

M: It's not like we're the only ones fucking, you know that Elena is seeing Mr Gwaine. 

A: Look, I'm not judging, I'm just saying I don't think it's right for me. 

M: :( 

M: Don't you like me? 

A: I do, but I just can't, not while you're still my student. I could get fired. 

M: :( 

M: Are you going to say you don't want to see me anymore? 

A: No, I do. I just don't want to sleep with you till you graduate. 

A: Is that too much to ask? 

M: But... It's my birthday on Saturday :( I thought we would have a great night together. 

M: I can't change what I want. 

A: No to Saturday. 

M: Sigh:( 

A: Stop it with the sad smileys.

M:...

M: :D 

A:???

M: I just wanted to say something positive 

A: Er. Ok. 

M: Yeah. See you around then. 

****

Monday morning: 

Arthur watched Mordred sling an arm around another student- what was his name? Merlin?- and walk together, their bodies touching from shoulder to torso to thigh. 

"Professor!" Mordred greeted him as they came closer.

Arthur swallowed and willed himself to talk, " Mordred. Did you have a nice weekend?" 

"Oh I certainly did!" Mordred smiled. "It was great." 

Arthur felt a sick lurching in his stomach, and visions of Mordred having birthday sex with someone else assailed him. He wanted to say he'd take it all back, please, please don't go to someone else instead of him, Arthur was sorry. He wanted to say he’d do anything. 

Instead, Arthur said, "I'm glad to hear that," and walked right on. He cursed his old fashioned ideals, his stupid beliefs, cursed the day he'd agreed to take a walk with Mordred, cursed his hopes that he would finally have a meaningful friendship with someone that would grow into something beautiful.

Behind Arthur, the two students watched him. Merlin abruptly removed Mordred’s arm from his shoulder. “What was that about?” he asked. 

Mordred shrugged and strolled away, “Just reminding our professor about something he missed out.” 

Merlin’s gaze followed Arthur all the way across the courtyard. He didn’t know what Arthur saw in Mordred, but maybe, just maybe one day, he’d be the one to catch Arthur’s eye.

* * *

**#13**

**Pairing(s):** Isolde/Tristan, Isolde/Uther  
 **Warning(s):** non-con voyeurism, unsafe sex  
 **Tropes Smashed:** mirrors + exhibitionism + possessive behaviour

"Where the fuck is Pendragon?" Isolde mutters after yet another glance at the clock. "I'm starting to think he's not going to show up."

"He will." Tristan's voice in her ear is as soothing as it always is. "He took the bait. You got him _very_ interested."

She glances at the portrait behind the desk where she knows he's got a camera set up. There's one in the mirror opposite, too, and knowing Tristan, probably a few somewhere on the ceiling. 

"Jealous?"

"No," Tristan says, too quickly.

"So you won't mind if I have to resort to... alternative measures to close the deal."

"You've done it before," Tristan says. "If it doesn't bother you, it doesn't bother me."

Isolde just leans against the desk, smirking. 

When Uther finally arrives, she's pulled herself up to sit beside the cheque, shirt unbuttoned halfway down, legs spread as far as her pencil skirt will allow.

"You're late," she says, voice low, and Uther slowly drags his gaze up to her face.

"I was checking your credentials," he says. "I had to be sure I was making a good investment."

"And are you?"

Uther puts his briefcase down by the desk, straightening up slowly in front of her.

"I could stand a little more convincing," he says, and Isolde hides her smile when that makes Tristan growl. 

*

The first surprising thing is when Uther skims his hands up her thighs and tugs her knickers down over her - literally killer - heels, he stays on his knees. 

The second surprising thing is the noise Tristan makes when Uther buries his face in her cunt. 

"Yeah?" she breathes, quiet enough that Uther won't hear. 

"Yeah," Tristan says, just as quietly. 

Isolde arches up to better angle herself in front of the mirror, in front of Tristan, but all that really accomplishes is her hips rocking against Uther's face in a way that makes her shudder and him groan and her shudder all over again. She throws her head back, knowing Tristan will see, and lets herself moan a little more than is strictly natural. 

"Was that really necessary?" Tristan demands and Isolde groans out, " _Yes_ ," not even bothering to hide it, this time. The thing is, Uther is _good_ , nosing at her folds and licking in agonisingly steady strokes, but it's not just his clever tongue leaving her weak and tingling. Tristan's breath is coming in sharp, uneven bursts in her ear, and it's like he's right there with her as someone else fucks her senseless. 

Uther looks up, smiling so broad Isolde can see it, and with one final suck at her clit, pulls away. Isolde moans, her legs shaking at the loss, and Uther stands to fit their mouths together, the taste of her still raw in his mouth. He's got her crowded against the desk, his dick pressing hard against her through his trousers, and she takes a few deep breaths to recover herself. 

"Not convinced, then?" she says, remembering the cheque still sitting beside her, crumpled slightly under her palm. 

"Not quite," Uther murmurs, "though you do make a good case."

"I suppose I'll have to drive it home some other way," Isolde says, holding Uther's gaze as she goes for his belt and starts to undo it. 

"That was terrible," Tristan tells her, "absolutely god-fucking-awful, I can't _believe_ -"

He breaks off with a wounded noise when she slips down from the desk and turns to press back against Uther. 

"Are these terms more appealing?" she asks, flicking her gaze towards the other camera. She guides Uther's cock to her dripping cunt and grinds onto him, slowly, smirking when Uther moans in one ear and Tristan curses in the other. 

"I think," Uther says, thrusting forward, "we will definitely," another thrust, "come," and again, "to an agreement."

He grips her hips hard enough to leave bruises, and Isolde nearly loses herself thinking about Tristan finding them later and pressing his fingers into them. She meets Uther on every thrust, until his once perfect rhythm stutters and he groans out the fake name she had given him. 

"The cheque?" Isolde says, when Uther's sagged back against the desk. 

"You are truly a remarkable woman," he says, chuckling, but he takes the pen she holds out. "I look forward to working with you again soon."

"Not if I have anything to do with it," Tristan mutters, and Isolde just laughs.

* * *

**#14**

**Pairing(s):** presumably one-sided Merlin/Arthur, Gwaine/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** Asshat Arthur  
 **Tropes Smashed:** Possessive Behaviour + Clothes Sharing

Arthur’s complaining before he opens his eyes. About the repugnance of the sun, Merlin’s stomp-happy entrance, the flimsiness of the curtains, Merlin’s loud, grotesque _breathing_. That’s as far as he makes it down the list before he’s sitting up, fighting with heavy eyelids so his insults might be more accurate. He blinks stupidly, gawping as his manservant moves about. “Merlin, what _are_ you wearing?”

He’s dressed… wrong. His shirt is beige, and there’s no neckerchief. He’s probably been ensorcelled. Which would be just like Merlin, to waste Arthur’s entire day because he’s too much of a wee-brain to notice when a sorcerer comes calling.

Merlin’s brow furrows, like he doesn’t even notice anything _off_. Dollop head. He glances down, like the dunce he is. “It’s a shirt,” he says slowly, likely because he’s confused by it. Then his expression goes a bit sly. “You’re wearing one, too.” He pretends to marvel over it. “Magnificent, isn’t it?”

Arthur’s not sure why Merlin’s being so purposefully dense about this. He uses the same (he now realizes _mocking_ ) slow tone with Merlin. “It’s not red. Or blue. Therefore it can’t be yours.”

The tips of Merlin’s ears flush a dark shade of red.

“You’re blushing,” Arthur says, dumbfounded. Realizing that can only mean: “It _isn’t_ your shirt.”

Merlin hunches his shoulders, murmurs under his breath, “Is there anything else you require, sire?”

Arthur glares at the shirt. It’s almost familiar somehow, loose around Merlin’s neck so it shows off his clavicle and a hare too long on the arms. It tugs at his memory but he can’t drag it out. He motions to the hangings, says, “The curtains, if you please, Merlin. They’re a state.”

Merlin sighs, stumbles over his own feet to Arthur’s side. Arthur waits until he’s distracted, picks up the candle burning low on his night table and lights the sleeve of the beige monstrosity on fire in a fit of pique.

Merlin yelps, puts the flame out with the heavy curtain and blinks wide eyes at him. “That was intentional,” he accuses.

That was insanity, is what that was, but who was Merlin to stomp into his chambers, with his loud and grotesque breathing, in another man’s shirt? It was… unseemly. Arthur sniffs. “Why would I sully another man’s shirt? Stop talking nonsense, Merlin.”

+

Arthur glances at Merlin from under his fringe as his goblet’s refilled. He’s in a foul mood but not for any reason Arthur can suss out. He seems to be over having not-his-shirt ruined, thankfully. Having his manservant furious with him is much more trouble than it’s worth. Arthur takes a deep swallow and his eyes flit to the floor as he lowers his cup.

“Those aren’t your boots,” he says, stymied.

Merlin looks down too. He frowns, as though he’s only just noticed, and flexes his toes. “One of them is,” he points out happily.

“Dressing in the dark, Merlin?” Arthur asks tightly.

That infuriating flush is back. Arthur knocks his wine onto Merlin’s boots.

+

Over the next two weeks, Merlin shows up with a belt Arthur’s never seen before. (Arthur _inadvertently_ catches his knife in it and rends it in two.) A leather cuff around his wrist. (Arthur asks to see it and _accidentally_ drops it in the lake.) Purple socks that Arthur knows Merlin would never own. (He _mistakenly_ uses them to stoke the fire.) 

It’s really no one’s fault but Merlin’s and this man’s. If he wanted to keep his wardrobe, he wouldn’t be giving half of it away. Arthur can hardly be held responsible for what disasters befall a klutz like Merlin.

It’s not as though it’s intentional. Or malicious.

+

He’s been keeping on guard with Merlin. Looking out for him, nothing more. This man is clearly trying to barter his way into Merlin’s good graces, for what nefarious purposes Arthur can’t yet know. After weeks of following Merlin, he’s _finally_ sneaking away from Gaius’… to go to the tavern.

Arthur frowns, sneaking inside with his hood low only to find Merlin’s nowhere to be found. Not at a table or tucked away but perhaps… upstairs, in a room?

Arthur eases up the stairs and nearly recoils from the sight that greets him. His _knight_ —Sir _Gwaine_ has Merlin pressed up against the wall, hand in his breeches, familiar red neckerchief tied around Gwaine’s wrist, beaming smile on his mouth that Merlin kisses away—

Arthur’s blood boils, eyes narrowing. One thing is certain: he has not yet begun to fight.

* * *

**#15**

**Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** None  
 **Tropes Smashed:** Chastity Devices/Object Insertion/Masturbation/Power Imbalance

“Merlin…” Arthur gasped between kisses. “We mustn’t.”

Merlin felt the soft gust of Arthur’s breath in his ear. Despite his lame protest, Arthur showed no signs of stopping. He dipped his head and pressed his hot mouth against Merlin’s neck.

Merlin dug his fingers into the white tunic that draped Arthur’s shoulders and wondered what had taken Arthur so long to act on his feelings. For months, Merlin had tried to ignore Arthur’s eyes as they followed him in the great hall. He pretended not to notice when Arthur melted into his touch as he dressed him. He dismissed the fondness with which Arthur spoke his name when he thought Merlin wasn’t listening. It wouldn’t serve Merlin well to get his hopes up. But now, with his back pressed against the door of Arthur’s chambers and Arthur’s breath hot in his ear, he knew he hadn’t been mistaken. Arthur wanted him.

Outside the castle, thunder rumbled across the sky.

Merlin let his palms roam down Arthur’s back until he cupped Arthur’s firm arse in his hands. Merlin panted his approval as he kneaded his treasure. With steady force, Merlin ground his hips into Arthur’s, feeling Arthur’s solid cock as it prodded against his own.

Arthur moaned. He grasped Merlin’s wrists and brought them to his hips. “Merlin… there’s something you must know,” Arthur whispered.

“Tell me,” Merlin implored. And since his hands were unavailable, he swayed forward and bit at the laces of Arthur’s tunic, pulling the knot free with his teeth like a feral animal.

“Merlin,” Arthur whimpered. He released Merlin's wrists and took a step backward.

“What is it?” Merlin asked. He moved toward Arthur, noting his downcast eyes and somber pout. He framed Arthur's face with his hands and held him in place while he brushed their mouths together, relishing the slide of Arthur's lips beneath his own. Arthur wanted this as much as Merlin did... as much as Merlin always had.

“It's...” Arthur began, when the need to breathe slowed their kisses. “I need to show you.”

 

Arthur shifted away and shoved down his breeches. The bedchamber was silent, except for the rain that trickled against the window. By the candle’s glow, Arthur threaded his fingers through his hair in frustration.

Merlin knelt and ran his finger over Arthur’s cock—but it wasn’t flesh that he touched. Arthur’s cock had been encased in steel from root to tip with only a tiny opening for him to pass fluids. His balls were denied Merlin’s touch as well, their access as restricted as an impenetrable forest. An intricate lock joined the armor that shielded Arthur’s balls to the steel that sheathed his cock.

“Who did this to you?” Merlin asked, gazing upward to meet Arthur’s eyes.

“My father,” Arthur said. He squeezed Merlin’s shoulders and urged him to his feet.

“It’s his way of ensuring there are no bastards,” Merlin said, trailing his fingers over Arthur’s biceps.

“He doesn’t suspect that I haven’t any interest in fathering a child,” Arthur said with dismay.

Merlin closed his eyes and nipped at Arthur’s jaw, darting his tongue out to lick Arthur’s skin, longing for the taste of the inaccessible wanton flesh below. Arthur moved to catch Merlin’s lips with his own. The renewed kisses seemed to incite Arthur’s lust, making his bare hips hitch in desperation against Merlin’s wool breeches. Merlin’s cock grew harder. He felt Arthur’s warm hands slide beneath the hem of his tunic and sweep across his belly.

Merlin’s words came out as a curious whisper, “What do you do when you touch yourself?”

Arthur stilled before taking Merlin’s hand. He brought Merlin’s fingers to his hole.

Merlin hadn’t noticed the smooth wooden plug before. He raised his eyebrows in question.

“If I move just the right way,” Arthur said, his cheeks blushing pink, “I can find some relief.”

Merlin sighed. He was torn between sorrow and pity for Arthur’s plight. He swallowed hard before speaking. “What if I told you that there was a way I could remove this problem for you?” he asked, his finger tapping Arthur's steel prison.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Merlin,” Arthur said, leaning in to steal a kiss. “It would take an army of five kingdoms to convince me to stop you.”

Without hesitation, Merlin's eyes flashed gold. A crack of thunder sounded in the sky as the steel fell away and clattered on the stone floor.

Merlin hoped Arthur would someday forgive him.

Somewhere in the castle, Uther Pendragon clutched his heart.

* * *

**#16**

**Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** slight dub-con  
 **Tropes Smashed:** forced proximity, masturbation, possessive behavior

“I’m going to be a father.”

Arthur spit out his tea. “Wh-what the hell are you talking about?” 

Merlin laughed as Arthur wiped his mouth. “Sorry. I just had to see the look on your face. It really was worth it.”

Arthur glared at Merlin. “I don’t know how many times I have to say this Merlin, but you’re not funny.”

“Arthur, let me out of here.” Merlin shouted as he stormed forward.

Arthur held up his hand and pressed himself up against his door. Never in his wildest dreams did he think he would have to resort to kidnapping to get Merlin to listen, but Merlin had left him no other choice. “I just want you to hear me.”

Merlin rolled his eyes. “I have heard you, Arthur. I’ve done nothing for the last two weeks but listen to you complain about my decision. What does what I do with my sperm concern you so much?”

Arthur had tried to answer that question for himself for ages. Ever since Merlin had told him that he was planning on selling his sperm to pay for school, it was all that he could think of. He was sure he was just trying to look out for Merlin, but he knew there was more to it than that.

“Merlin, you haven’t thought this through. You’re not ready to be a father.” Arthur reasoned.

Merlin threw up his hands. “Of course I’m not. I’m not going to be a father, not really. I’m just a donor.”

“It’s not that simple. You can’t detach yourself so easily. I know you, Merlin. The thought of there being little pieces of you out there...kids with your smile and your big, blue eyes and those damn ears...it would eat you up inside.”

Merlin clenched his fists and tried to look stoic, but Arthur could see his lower lip quiver slightly. He turned his back on Arthur.

As he spoke the words to Merlin, Arthur thought about Merlin’s future children out there being raised by other people. It tore at Arthur’s gut and it felt so wrong. Merlin would be an amazing father and he deserved that opportunity. If anyone was going to raise Merlin’s kids it should be Merlin...and Arthur wanted to be by his side raising them with him.

Merlin turned back to him and discretely wiped at his eyes. “No matter what you think, it’s my decision. You have no right to try and overrule my decisions.” Merlin strode forward. “Get out of my way.”

Merlin stood toe to toe with Arthur. Feeling Merlin so close, coupled with his realization about what he really wanted, emboldened Arthur and he stepped forward even closer.

He could hear Merlin’s breath hitch. 

“Make me.” Arthur whispered.

Merlin looked between Arthur, the door, and then back again.

Arthur could feel his pants tighten as Merlin licked his lips. He shifted his crotch up against Merlin.

Merlin stepped back. “Arthur what are you doing?”

“Nothing.” He said with faux innocence as he slid his hand up his thigh and cupped his growing erection. 

He could see Merlin’s Adam’s apple bouncing and Merlin’s own erection tenting his pants.

“Aren’t you supposed to make a donation tomorrow? I’m fairly sure you’re not supposed to make any early deposits, right?” He said as he unbuttoned his pants.

“Arthur, stop.” Merlin inched backwards, but Arthur followed him every step of the way.

“I’m not doing anything. Unlike you, I’m allowed to come as much as I want.” Arthur said, his voice thick with the strain of his arousal as he slowly pumped himself. 

Merlin closed his eyes and whimpered. “Please, stop, Arthur.”

“I can’t,” Arthur moaned deliberately as he smoothed his pre-come down his length. The friction made the pleasure even more intense and Arthur knew he would come soon. 

By the sound of Merlin’s breathing he knew he was close as well.

“I’m going to come, Merlin.” Arthur reached out and gripped Merlin’s shoulder and buried his face in his neck.

“Damn you, Arthur.” Merlin whined.

Merlin gripped Arthur’s arse as he groaned into his ear.

Arthur let go at the same time and could feel his come splash against his hand.

They remained holding each other for a few more minutes. Arthur knew this was only a temporary victory, but he was determined to change Merlin's mind and decided he would have fun doing it.

* * *

**#17**

**Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** None of the standards  
 **Tropes Smashed:** Forced proximity, porn, masturbation, a little bit of hurt/comfort, a little bit of exhibitionism

 

Merlin thumped his suitcase onto the landing with a heavy sigh. His apartment door was standing open, and inside a man was shouting into his phone.

The apartment was smallish, clean, and organized, with the exception of a blonde man in a rumpled suit. His hair was oily and mussed, he had giant bags under his eyes, and even his skin looked stressed.

“Who're you?” Merlin asked.

“Your roommate,” the man snapped. “Apparently.”

“Oh,” Merlin said. “I thought I didn't have a roommate?”

“So did I,” the man said.

Merlin nodded, plonked down his bag in the bedroom, and fell asleep.

It was explained the next day. Merlin was dizzy with jet lag and culture shock, but the gist of it was that he and Arthur were to be roommates because one of the other 'Foreign Professionals' had showed up with an unexpected husband and two children in tow. Arthur wasn't pleased, and Merlin got the sense that their hosts weren't either.

Japan was wonderful, insane and exciting, and nothing could have prepared Merlin for life in Kyoto. But after a day of teaching high school students, sometimes all he wanted was to come home and relax.

Except his roommate had caught him rocking out to Queen once, so that was out.

His roommate had managed to catch him doing... pretty much everything, actually. Still, Arthur had turned out to be a great roommate.

Not in any traditional sense. He left dishes in the sink. He left hair in the shower drain. His socks were everywhere. He kept the volume too high on the TV, and watched horrid programs.

But when Merlin hit a wave of homesickness and Arthur caught him sobbing into a picture of his mum, he'd wrapped him in a blanket, made him a cup of tea, and talked his ear off about the bizarre lumpy drink he'd tried the day before. Half an hour later they were buying as many chunky, slimy, and opaque beverages as they could just so Merlin could watch Arthur's face contort.

So when Arthur walked in on Merlin wanking to gay tentacle porn, he really didn't know what to expect. His hand froze on his cock, and he yanked the earbuds out with a guilty blush.

"Sorry, I thought you were out," he said.

"I'm back. I was going to- you're clearly busy. I'll-"

"No, I'll just-" Merlin had no idea how that sentence was going to end, not while he could hear the tinny moans and squelchy noises coming from the speakers.

Arthur left the room, and Merlin let out a breath before he heard Arthur returning.

"Right," Arthur said. "You could do whatever you like about that-" he waved a hand, "or I could come and help."

"Help?"

"Yes, idiot."

Merlin gulped. "Well, okay then."

Arthur slowly stepped in, and swallowed.

"Okay." He knelt beside Merlin, and wrapped a hand over Merlin's.

"Show me, Merlin," Arthur said, and Merlin had always heard that tone as a personal challenge.

He spread his legs wider, gripped a bit tighter, and rolled his balls gently, tugged a bit so he moaned. Arthur's hand went slack.

"Come on, Arthur, keep up."

Arthur kept up until he'd got the rhythm right and Merlin was jerking into his hand, until Merlin had his hand fisted in his hair, pinching his nipples and nearly crying. Arthur's hand was wide and warm, and Arthur's breath came hot and fast on his neck, and-

"Fuck, Merlin." Through it all tiny people fucked monsters that were much less interesting than a single human hand on his cock.

When Merlin broke, he fell entirely apart. Crying out, biting his lip and yanking his hair, he covered Arthur's hand in come.

As he came back into himself he heard Arthur jerking himself, hand fast on his cock like it hurt. Arthur came with a strangled whimper, and Merlin leaned in to kiss each sound.

Arthur moaned into his lips, and returned lazy kisses as his body relaxed.

"Bed?" Merlin suggested. Arthur climbed onto Merlin's bed. 

They lay in silence until Arthur asked, "Want to do that again later?"

Merlin grinned. "Yeah, let's."

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Two months later Arthur knocked on the bedroom door.

"Made you a surprise."

"Oh god."

"I think you'll like it."

Merlin followed him into the kitchen, and stopped dead. There on the counter was a carved turnip.

"Arthur, is that-"

"Yep!"

"I can't believe you made me a tentacle."

* * *

**#18**

**Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** -  
 **Tropes Smashed:** Clothes Sharing; Hurt/Comfort

 

They are three hours away from Camelot when the rain finally ends. A thin, icy wind takes its place, whistling through the trees at the edge of the forest. Arthur shivers when the wind stings his eyes and nose; for the first time since they left, he wishes for hot, overcrowded banquet hall in the castle at Mercia. 

Standing at the edge of the clearing, Arthur crosses his arms against the wind and watches as his men pitch camp. They only need enough space to set up their tents and some protection from the wind. 

Arthur doesn't turn when he hears footsteps approach, though he smiles when a hand rests on his shoulder. 

"It was the right choice." Merlin squeezes his shoulder, and though he's sure he's imagining it, Arthur feels bodyheat through his armor. "Everyone's worn out from the storm. You look so tired," he adds, quietly. 

Arthur replies with a frown, clenching his jaw against another shiver. All he wants is to curl into Merlin's side, to close his eyes and feel Merlin's hand move from his shoulder to the base of his back, to have Merlin pull him near and, when he opens his eyes, to find them standing in the pool of yellow candlelight in his private apartments. 

"Go see that my squire's set up my tent properly, then see to the horses. And get some dinner for yourself. There should be something hot."

Merlin's hand moves from his shoulder to his back, but disappears before Arthur is tempted to move into the touch. Merlin nods before he leaves, a little crease between his eyebrows, and Arthur knows he must look worse than tired. 

By the time his walk through the campsite leads him to his own tent, Arthur certainly feels worse than tired. The shivering seems to come over him with each gust of wind and there is an odd, cold emptiness inside him that he has not yet been able to name, but that he knows is related to the hollowness he hears when anyone addresses him as 'king.' It is his father's title, and like the king's quarters in Camelot, it feels too big and too empty for Arthur to inhabit. 

The tent he's had set up instead of the royal pavilion is warm enough, however, and Merlin's made up what looks less like a camp-bed and more like a pile of random blankets and rugs in the corner.

Arthur braces himself against another case of the chills as Merlin helps him out of his armor, then hides his face in Merlin's shoulder when he cannot help but shiver at the feel of the cool air against his damp skin. 

"I wanted to get home tonight."

"I know," Merlin says, lips pressing to Arthur's hair. He rubs his hands up and down Arthur's arms, then tugs him over the to the bed. "Let's get some rest." 

The bed really _is_ just a tumble of blankets--Merlin's hardly bothered to do much else--but the warmth and the closeness are soothing. Familiar, Arthur thinks, and noses into the hollow of Merlin's throat. 

He wraps himself around Merlin, chest to chest and groin to groin, until his world dwindles down to this one space. Merlin kisses Arthur's ear, sighs, and kisses him again. The gesture is small and intimate, and it's enough. 

Arthur presses in closer, suddenly and desperately aroused. He doesn't wait for Merlin to react, but slides one hand down Merlin's side to grip his thigh and hold him tight. Their bodies fit together just right, with just enough room to slide against his each other and to gasp kisses against each other's lips. 

Arthur brings Merlin off first, so he can hold Merlin even closer, can feel his body go relaxed and pliant, can shudder against him and burrow himself so close after he comes that he is wrapped up in Merlin's scent. 

*

Arthur watches the camp come alive at sunrise. The next morning is clear, bright and cold, the world scrubbed clean by yesterday's wind and rain.

Merlin comes to stand with him after dressing, then reaches his arms around Arthur's shoulders. "Here," he says, tying his scarf around Arthur's neck and tucking it into his tunic. "This will keep you warm until we get back to Camelot." 

The scarf isn't particularly comfortable, but it reminds Arthur of the nest of blankets and the soft scent of Merlin's skin upon waking.

* * *

**#19**

**Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** None.  
 **Tropes Smashed:** Pornography, Exhibitionism, Delayed Gratification

"Alien pornography. Yeah. Okay. That's..." Arthur cocked his head and squinted at the amorphous forms flowing around them, trying to make sense of the light show, then shook his head when his eyes started to hurt. He stumbled, and Merlin grabbed his arm and pulled it over his shoulders, dragging Arthur up.

"Stop staring at the lights," Merlin muttered in his ear, body warm and firm and braced against his side, oblivious to the fact that he was maybe one and a half inches from having Arthur's rock-hard prick jammed into his hip. "Focus. We need to get out of here. We are going to be the leading.. leading somethings in this alien porno in about fifteen minutes if we can't find the exit or some kind of off-switch."

Focus... no. The shifting patterns of colours were beginning to make sense to him. Here there was a body, lithe and supple like Merlin's, and there, hands, mouths, other bodies moving over the first, all looking like his own... it felt so real, as though he could taste Merlin's bitter pre-come on his tongue, feel the sleek muscles shift beneath his palms.

He shivered, and Merlin pressed closer, face set in worry. 

"Arthur, did they get you? I saw one of them holding an injector..."

He shook his head again, coughed, trying to clear the ghostly sense of swallowing Merlin's heavy cock down his throat until he could feel curling hairs on his lips. Half-choked and coughed until the sensation faded. "No, they discussed had needed was to see the mindfield and his imagination had readily provided everything else. "You were right," he thought to add, "we shouldn't watch the alien porn."

"What?" Distracted, Merlin turned to see what Arthur was watching, looking confused at first, and then his perfect mouth fell open. It would fit around Arthur's cock so beautifully, Arthur thought. Arthur could wear him all day. Arthur could see and feel himself wearing Merlin's mouth all day.

"What is..." Merlin's eyes flicked to him, then back to the shifting lights. He turned towards Arthur, eyes nearly black with arousal, and Arthur could feel Merlin's hard cock brush against his own.

They moved as one, reaching for each other in desperate union, mouths drawn together as inexorably as gravity, crushing their bodies together to the flow of the pulsating lights.

"I almost don't care that Mordred will be watching the whole thing with his hand down his pants, that creeper," Merlin hissed as they rocked their hips together, real sensations tangling with those aroused by the alien pornographic field. Taking that as encouragement, Arthur jammed both hands into Merlin's pants to squeeze the firm cheeks he'd coveted for so long. "Gwaine bet Leon that we wouldn't be able to resist any more than they could."

Arthur growled and bit Merlin's shoulder. "Damn it. My banshee sister will never stop laughing about this. She bet we wouldn't be able to retrieve the blueprints. She bet we would be stopped in this room just like those idiots, even."

"Fuck." Merlin closed his eyes and thrust against Arthur, looking almost meditative. "I hate to lose a bet. And we do need that information." His hands clenched bruisingly hard over Arthur's arms. "Fuck. I want to fuck you so much."

"Nnngrh..." He nearly whimpered at the impression of a cock inside him as Merlin voiced the thought. But they had a mission. "Tell you what, we get this retrieval done, and then you fuck me when we get back. We will collect on those bets and you can fuck me while rolling in their credits."

"Yes." A fierce clarity returned, burning away the lust-hazed look from Merlin's eyes. Arthur let out a pained moan as Merlin gave his cock a last, firm squeeze before shoving him off and rolling to his feet. "Let's do it."

* * *

**#20**

**Pairing(s):** Morgana/OMC, Morgana/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** slight dubcon  
 **Tropes Smashed:** anonymous sex, accidental stimulation, incest, beloved enemies, rituals

Morgana doesn't know the man who holds out his hand to her over the Beltane fire. She doesn't care. The drums thunder in her blood. She's young and untouched and her skin burns hotter than the fire.

She takes his hand and jumps over the fire, committing herself to his arms tonight. 

He’s tall and strong. She twines her arms around his neck, and when he embraces her in return, her feet come off the ground. Her breasts crush against the muscle of his chest; the hard ridge in his breeches rubs through the fabric of her dress against her thigh.

His mouth tastes of sour ale, and even that excites her as he carries her to the shadows. He lays her down on the soft clover. She lets him pull open her bodice so his mouth can find her breasts, and his steady suckle on her nipple makes her ache all the way down through her belly. She arches up against him.

“Get off her, you animal!” 

Suddenly Morgana is pushing up against empty air. It takes a moment for her haze of arousal to dissipate, for her to associate the voice and the thump of a person slamming into a tree with the loss of her lover.

“The lass was willing,” her man protests. 

“That lass is the Lady Morgana,” barks the voice Morgana finds most infuriating in all the world. “I should have you gelded for sullying her.”

“Arthur!” Morgana staggers to her feet. “Unhand him. You have no right to interfere.”

He whirls around to look at her incredulously. “I have every right,” he starts, then winces and turns his head. “Cover yourself, Morgana, by all that’s holy.”

In defiance, she rips the rest of her dress open and lets it slide down her legs. “I will not,” she says, because this is holy, she is holy: the ache in her breasts and the wet rub of her thighs and the hard cock she claimed for herself. 

“Then you leave me no choice.” Face grim in the moonlight, he seizes her and heaves her up into his arms. She screams in rage, but he ignores her and strides away from the fires, back towards the cold, joyless castle.

No one will interfere with the prince, and they both know it. But Morgana’s blood still runs hot, lust gone to fury. She lashes out at his face. He flinches back in surprise; it throws him off balance for only a second, but that’s enough for Morgana to thrash wildly against the restraint of his arms.

They tumble to the ground. “You’re a bloody hellcat,” Arthur says as he struggles to pin her down and subdue her. 

“I’m a woman,” she corrects and digs her heel into the earth and pushes until she takes him down onto his back. 

He has his hands locked around her wrists, so her body follows his. Her naked arse slides down the slope of his thighs—and over his cock. He hisses in involuntary pleasure.

Morgana stills, and they stare at each other in mutual fascination tinged with arousal and horror. Experimentally, she spreads her legs wider and angles her hips so her wet cunt rubs over him. He groans and begins to harden enough that she can feel it pressing into her. 

“Morgana,” he protests weakly when she opens his breeches and pulls him free. “We can’t—this isn’t—“

“The goddess wants her due, Arthur,” she murmurs. She isn’t really listening, too fascinated by the thick flesh in her hands. It makes sense, like some ancient puzzle fitting together, that the first cock she touches, the first cock she’s going to take, is Arthur’s.

Her fingers slowly silence his protests. Soon a glistening drop wells up from the head. Morgana thumbs it off, and stifles a moan as an answering surge dampens her thighs. She can’t wait another minute to have it inside her.

She lifts herself up and angles his cock between her legs. She rubs the head through her wetness and over her clit. Then she presses it against her entrance and holds it as she sinks herself down onto it.

A week ago, she had taken the liberty of battering through her maidenhead with a candle, so the only pain now is good pain from the stretch of his girth. She rocks her hips, getting used to the intrusion, making her body welcome it. After a minute, she relaxes--his flesh feels truly one with hers at last.

Hesitantly, Arthur lifts his hands to her hips. She smiles through her building pleasure, goddess rampant.

* * *

**#21**

**Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** Boarding school setting (ages not specified), so possible underage/dub-con interpretation.  
 **Tropes Smashed:** Exhibitionism and Accidental Stimulation, with bonus hints of Rituals, Forced Proximity and Hurt/Comfort.

Arthur's hand resting on his bare shoulder. Naked together for the first time, hip to hip. The buzz of bees beyond the open door, of the girls out on the lawn. Mouth sticky with the cherry cordial Arthur'd nicked from the warden's office. 

_"For courage. It's tradition."_

Arthur pokes his head out, peering right, then left. "Now," he says, pushing Merlin over the threshold. "Go, _run_!"

Shoe-tamed feet clumsy on the flagstones – Arthur soon overtakes him – then settling into damp earth and clipped grass, shockingly warm from the sun; the sensation of air on Merlin's skin like a full-body slap, the tightening of nipples, pores, balls. He doesn't look down, but he can feel his prick bouncing, smacking against his thighs. 

Sunlight stings his eyes, washes over Arthur. Golden head, pale muscled back-bottom-thighs, tan calves, the flashing pink soles of his feet – _Arthur_ stings Merlin's eyes. He's the stark, impossible answer to questions asked earlier.

_"Who's the prettiest, do you reckon? Anyone you fancy?"_

A shout goes up from the crowd on the lawn; they've been seen. Laughter. Squeals. The girls from Gawant Hall.

Merlin keeps his eyes up as they weave through the maze of limbs and blankets, elbows pumping, high-stepping over rucksacks and lunch hampers. Shrieks, catcalls – Morgana's crew smack at them with rolled revision notes – but all Merlin cares about is never stopping, never slowing, Arthur up ahead. 

He feels air on his teeth and realises he's grinning.

Shouts alert them to old Geoffrey, plodding around the far corner of the building. Whooping, Arthur veers left, plunging downhill. Through the flowerbeds, over the ha-ha and across the lower lawn, cheered on by the girls. He glances back once, eyes merry, then dives through a gap in the hedge. 

Merlin follows, picking his way through the sawn-off twiglets and bristling leaves before he's caught, yanked, spun around. 

"Ow! What the – " 

A hand smothering his mouth, tugging him back against… 

"Shh, in here. Duck."

… damp skin, tense muscle, something squishier brushing against his buttocks.

In a daze, Merlin lets himself be guided back through a low stone archway, veiled by ivy, and down three steps. The old gatehouse tower. He's heard the rumours: generations of firsts for Gawant girls and Camelot boys. Arthur squeezes them into the cellar stairwell, Merlin burning up at the thought that this is the hand Arthur bowls cricket with, the one he probably – 

He's hard. Trembling.

"Steady now." The hand slides down, pats Merlin's chest. "Geoffrey's all huff and no puff. He'll give up soon enough."

"Could report us." 

"You forget. I'm Head Boy."

Merlin hasn’t. Can't. It's why there's never any bloody _air_ at this school.

"Plus I told you, it's tradition. On May Day, Camelot boys – "

"That was weeks ago!" Merlin forgets himself, turns. "I don't see why – _Shit_." His swollen prick skids past Arthur's soft one, hanging fat and heavy from its nest, and pokes him in the crease of his hip.

"Sorry, it's just…um." He tries to cover up, but Arthur knocks his hands away. 

"You weren't here then." Quiet. Calm. He holds Merlin's gaze before looking down.

Merlin gasps as Arthur traces the scar with his thumb. It's a faint red line now, ends dimpled. Acute appendicitis. He doesn’t remember, but they'd told him Arthur had carried him to Matron. 

"You very nearly _weren't here._ Thought I'd never get a chance to…" 

Arthur's hand moves, stroking Merlin's hip, his lower belly, then – palm in a loose curl around his prick, the scuff of callouses, a gentle squeeze. A pulse of clear fluid.

Merlin stares. "I've never – "

"I figured." Arthur's mouth on his mouth, a murmur of dry lips and sour-sweet cherry spit. Grip tighter now, a rhythmic, twisting pull. "You can touch me, too."

"Shit, _shit_ that's…"

His first real kiss and now Arthur's cock's surging into his hand, his hot breath on Merlin's cheek, saying, "Had my eye on you, Emrys."

Not so impossible after all.

Merlin hears Geoffrey's bluster fade away, the faint laughter of the girls on the lawn. He claims another kiss, this one desperate, muffling his cry on Arthur's tongue as he thrusts, shoots, spills what feels like a year's worth of ache.

After, he's high. Shameless. He works Arthur with both hands, slicked with his own come. "Morgana," he whispers, tasting the sweat on Arthur's neck. "She's prettiest. But you're the only one I fancy."

Arthur strains, coming with a silent, whole-body shudder. Then he slumps against Merlin, laughing. Loud. Like he doesn’t care who hears.

* * *


	2. Group B (warnings)

**#22**

**Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** Age difference (17/27, legal in the UK)  
 **Tropes Smashed:** Age difference + clothes sharing

Arthur Pendragon learns some things about himself this weekend:  
1\. He’s rather terrible at fishing.  
2\. A weekend trip to Gwaine’s cabin by the lake is exactly what he needed.  
3\. He wants to fuck Gwaine’s little brother.

The latter is one revelation that Arthur wishes he could be without. His feet skim the surface of the water as he squints against the late afternoon sun, his hands gripping the edge of the docks. Soaking in the dissipating heat of the day, his thoughts don’t go to the column he should be writing, but to Merlin soaked to the bone after his tumble into the lake.

Merlin had laughed, neck exposed as he threw his head back, white t-shirt sticking to his skin. Arthur stared, unabashedly, his eyes lingering on the smooth expanse of Merlin’s stomach.

When Merlin realised he’d only brought an extra pair of shorts, Arthur handed him his spare t-shirt and had to spend the rest of the day staring at the way it hung off his narrow shoulders, knowing it’d smell like Merlin when he got it back.

Shame had turned his cheeks pink every time he found himself staring at the thin, young frame of the _teenager_ wearing his shirt, looking like he belonged to Arthur.

*

“What are you doing here?” Arthur says, pausing as the door slams behind him.

Merlin sits cross-legged on Arthur’s bed and flashes a hesitant, boyish smile when he looks up.

“Thought you’d like your shirt back.”

Arthur isn’t sure if he should comment on the absurdity of that explanation considering Merlin is still wearing it. It hangs off his narrow frame and Arthur wants to tear it off and gag him with it. Or bury his own face in it while he jerks himself raw.

Merlin’s lips are parted, as if he wants to say something.

“You’re seventeen,” Arthur says before Merlin can get the words out.

Merlin squares his jaw. “Yeah, I am. A whole year older than sixteen. I’ve seen you watching all day, okay? I might be seventeen but I’m not an idiot.”

Shit, fuck, bugger, _fuck_.

“I shouldn’t have. God, Merlin, I’m so fucking sorry for being ridiculously inappropriate.”

“Oh my god, stop.” Merlin gets up and moves towards him. “It’s not like you’re sixty. I like it when you stare.” He pauses. “It makes me hard.”

Arthur groans, his traitor cock hardening in his shorts. And Merlin is standing there, stupidly plump lips parted, wearing his shirt and smelling of sun-warm skin and sunscreen.

Closing his eyes, Arthur takes a breath and reaches out, fumbling until his hands twist into _his_ shirt. He drags Merlin close, kissing him too hard and too urgent, the messiness of it betraying Merlin’s inexperience and his own desperation.

But it’s so fucking good, Merlin’s tongue hot and eager, his long fingers resting uncertainly on Arthur’s ribs.

He knows it’s fucked up. He knows Merlin probably hasn’t done much, but it just makes him want it more. He sucks bruises into Merlin’s neck, circles his hand around Merlin’s cock with a muffled groan of relief, swallows Merlin’s whimpers when he starts fucking up into Arthur’s grip.

He should take it slow, be careful and considerate. But all he wants is to be the first one to fuck Merlin until he cries, to be the first one to feel Merlin come apart on his cock.

“Keep the shirt on,” Arthur says, voice hoarse.

He pushes Merlin face first onto the bed, working him open with lube he’d left under the pillow after jerking off last night. Taking his time, he soothes Merlin with his free hand. He runs his hand softly through Merlin’s hair as he slides a third finger in, twisting them into Merlin’s greedy hole.

Merlin bucks up into him and cries out, a bright flush disappearing under the neckline.

“Ssh,” Arthur says. Gwaine is two doors down the hall.

Arthur’s going to hell.

Merlin mutters, “Please, please,” and Arthur slides inside, heart pounding against his ribs as Merlin takes him in.

They fuck with Arthur’s hand clamped over Merlin’s mouth to muffle the desperate moans he can’t keep in, his arse taking the steady pounding of Arthur’s cock. Arthur has never felt so wired before, shame and bone-melting arousal mixing until he can’t even see straight.

He buries his face in his shirt, smells Merlin and sex, drowning in the press of Merlin’s lips against his fingers and the thought of them wrapping around his cock.

* * *

**#23**

**Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** Half-sibling incest, age difference (18/30).  
 **Tropes Smashed:** Age difference, incest, masturbation.

*

Uther remarries when Arthur is eleven. Hunith has a lovely smile, bakes like a goddess and doesn’t try to be his “new mummy”, so Arthur accepts her pretty readily (the cinnamon buns help, though).

When Merlin is born a year after, Arthur looks at the black-haired child and shrugs internally. Uther gives Arthur a rare hug, and that is the strongest memory he has from that day, not the stupid baby.

*

When Merlin turns five, and spends the day eating cake with his whole face, Arthur kisses his first boy behind the garden shed.

*

At university, Arthur talks to Uther and Merlin on the phone only occasionally, but spends most of his time either on the football pitch or in his boyfriend’s bed, exploring all the crevices of Gwaine’s body and tasting everything on there that has a taste. He’s learning completely different things than Uther wants him to.

*

Arthur gets a job in London. He doesn’t miss his tiny home town at all, but sometimes his mind strays to Merlin. How is he? Is he being bullied in school, with those big ears of his?

*

Merlin as a teenager is quirky, but quick to laugh and is surprisingly clever. Not that Arthur tells him that. He also grows ten inches in six months, and when Arthur gets home at Christmas the year Merlin has turned 18, he’s almost fully grown. Still a bit lanky and awkward, but you can see how he’ll turn out eventually. Arthur finds himself teasing the teen, grabbing him and rough-housing him a bit. Somehow, he’s missed him.

When Hunith brings out the Monopoly, he pretends that he doesn’t notice Merlin getting hard as they wrestle for the top-hat piece, but he does. What Arthur finds even more worrisome is that he wants to feel it more than just for a few seconds pressing up against his leg. He wants to see it, touch it, suck it.

He can’t helping watching Merlin more closely after that, but he at least keeps his distance.

*

When he goes back to London, it takes a week before Merlin texts him. Nothing special. Just a _You’re a clotpole._

_thats not a word you big baby_

_How about ‘prat’?_

_not a word either it just means ur an idiot merlin_

_Well, at least I can use proper spelling and punctuation._

_jfc u pretentious little shit. bring it here and then well talk_

_I’ve worked out since Christmas. I can take you for sure._

_so ur beefed urself up in a week huh_

_Maybe I gave up. Didn’t want to make Dad cry that his oldest son is such a nancy boy._

_i swear to god merlin dont write checks ur body cant cash_

There’s a few minutes before the next message. Like Merlin’s hesitating.

_I know you felt it. My cock._

For a second, Arthur panics. What if Merlin noticed how Arthur couldn’t stop looking at him after their wrestling match? What if he tells Uther, or even worse – Hunith?

He’s just about to send a text saying that Merlin got it all wrong, when his phone vibrates and a new text lights up the screen.

_It likes you._

Jesus fucking Christ.

_It wants you to hold me down and fuck me._

JESUS FUCKING CHRIST.

Arthur doesn’t answer right away, because his cock is definitely interested in this. He puts down his phone on the bedside table, unzips his jeans and gets his cock out. Closing his eyes, he works his hand up the shaft and it’s too dry, but it’s perfect because Arthur imagines Merlin doing it. Innocent, awkward Merlin with the big ears, the goofy smile and the dark hair. Groaning, he imagines running his hand through that hair as Merlin sucks him off, tightening the grip and making Merlin moan with pleasure.

He’d be such a horny bugger. He would like being treated a bit roughly, Arthur thinks. Maybe he can bend that virgin body over his huge desk and fuck him raw. Fuck him until he cries for mercy. Fuck him until he will feel it for days. Hold him down and–

He comes hard and is still a bit groggy when his phone vibrates again.

_Please tell me you don’t think I’m a freak._

Arthur smiles, satisfied.

_oh u definitely r but i like it. when r u coming to visit?_

* * *

**#24**

**Pairing(s):** Freya/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** Knifeplay. Brief mention of blood.  
 **Tropes Smashed:** Knifeplay and rituals

Freya unrolled the leather pouch. There were two stainless steel knives, and a rubber, play knife. She pulled them out, one by one. Freya ran a gloved hand up the blade of each one, twisting it to see the light reflect in the metal.

She had a routine.

First check for nicks, rust, and any imperfections. Her knives were an important part of her life, and she treated them as such. They were oiled every couple of months, and inspected before and after each play.

Then check the sharpness. The largest knife was the bluntest, and the smallest was the sharpest. She made sure that the process of sharpening or dulling hadn't damaged them. She used her own forearm to check the sharpness, pressing them against her skin. Not hard enough to draw blood, but to leave a red mark. She noted how much pressure she needed to use.

Finally, sterilisation, and any other sensation-based prep. All the blades were sterilised using alcohol and while wearing a fresh pair of latex gloves. The feeling of latex against her skin would forever be linked to knifeplay and Merlin in her head now.

Freya felt herself settle into the headspace needed for this evening.

~~~

Merlin knelt on the floor, head down. Freya blindfolded him, running her fingers through his messy hair as she did.

She picked up the play blade first. She could be rough with this one, slapping Merlin with the side of the blade. It didn't break his skin, but it left a blade-shaped red mark. She used the tip to poke Merlin in random places until he was jumpy, then stroked him with the flat until he settled again.

Freya watched the rhythm of Merlin's breath, watching him for a moment. The level of trust that he placed in her was exhilarating.

“Real play now,” she murmured to him, putting the rubber knife down and picking up the medium sized knife. They hadn't planned a long scene, so she was only going to use the one real knife.

She dragged the flat of the blade along the pale of Merlin's skin which instantly broke out in gooseflesh. Merlin shuddered, and Freya carried on stroking Merlin's skin until Merlin was still, and whining softly.

“Hush,” she said, adjusting her grip.

Freya moved the blade down Merlin's arm, dragging the point to make the tiniest cut on Merlin's upper arm. Merlin shuddered, and made a guttural noise. Freya swallowed hard, the noise making her aware of her own arousal, the dampness of her cunt.

She looked down briefly and saw that Merlin's erection was straining against his jeans.

Freya put the knife down, and watched as a bead of blood welled at the cut before breaking, and dripping down Merlin's arm, leaving a bright red trail.

Freya knelt in front of Merlin, leaning forward to remove the blindfold.  
Merlin blinked, sleepy-eyed and happy. “Hey,” he whispered.

“Hey,” Freya replied, running a hand through his hair again. “Lets get you cleaned up.”

“Then bed?” Merlin asked.

“Then bed,” Freya said, cupping Merlin's erection with her hand, squeezing slightly. Merlin whined and kissed her. Freya wanted to press forward, to feel Merlin against her, but she knew they had to stop until Merlin was cleaned up.

Freya got up, pulling Merlin up with her. She cleaned the cut and put a plaster on it (Hulk – Merlin's favourite).

“Still can't believe you got Marvel plasters.”

“They were on offer,” Freya said, which wasn't a lie, but it also wasn't why she picked them up. “Come on, bed.”

“Yes,” Merlin said, hands cupping her waist as they moved to the bed. Freya's clit was tingling and she wanted to rut artlessy until she came. Instead she knee-walked up the bed until she was straddling Merlin's face. Merlin licked and sucked at her clit, and she whined, moving back and forth.

She came quickly, clenching and gasping. Merlin pressed his head back into the bed, gasping and swearing and Freya knew he was touching himself and coming.

* * *

**#25**

**Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** Dubcon  
 **Tropes Smashed:** Rituals, Comeplay, Hurt/Comfort, Biological Imperative

It's for the good of us all, he remembers the village elders proclaiming. A noble sacrifice.

Arthur's but a farmer—with dark, soft earth and ashes under his fingernails he's unable to scrub, and skin freckled brown by long and tiring days still to come.

There's nothing special about him.

*

Arthur misses the security of the rowan branch hanging over his door-frame.

Even as a nurseling, he had been warned of the Unseelie. They come to snatch up up, to enchant you, to drag you to their kingdom and enslave you. Consume you body and soul.

Twilight creeps in, silent as ivy. His next breath catches in his throat as a shadowy, cloaked figure enters. It's a _man_ shrugging off the worn, ratty material. Exposed, milky skin that Arthur's eyes follow in growing suspicion as he remains motionless on his cot.

Nearly a living skeleton, thin and gaunt. Dark, curling tufts of hair under the man's arms, and a cock jutting from between his legs, dusky-colored and slimmer than Arthur's.

Arthur feels the tip press wetly against his naked thigh, as the blanket is cast aside.

“Emrys,” he says, partly questioning. Trying to hardest to appear unaffected, and Arthur knows himself to fail when his own groin heats with blood and need, in the simplest touch. A hand wraps to Arthur and he gives a keening cry, bucking into enveloping, tingling warmth.

The creature grins above him, beautifully human with whole, pearly teeth, crawling between Arthur's opening legs and nuzzling his chest, mouthing the blond fur.

“You give yourself to me?”

Emrys's voice keeps a low, comforting timbre, keeping him from any thought of bolting.

Arthur—only a farmer, a virginal sacrifice, and _alone_ —drags Emrys's rune-tattooed face up, kisses him with enough force to see the constellations of bright stars behind his eyelids. Something hot and sharp in his gut. He almost laughs as Emrys yelps surprised.

A mingling of their spit dangles from Arthur's lips.

“Yes, you idiot,” he snaps. “Now fuck me.”

*

Magic, as Arthur learns, and sex makes him lightheaded and unable to think clearly.

He trembles in place, muscles clenching, biting his lip as Emrys licks against his puffy, stretched hole, where Arthur still felt some of the come inside him dripping out. He swallows down another building moan as Emrys sucks away a dribble of fluid-warmth.

“Mm, lovely,” he murmurs into Arthur's hipbone, running his fingers over his slick perineum.

Arthur looks at him, and he understands.

His hand reaches to cup the angle of Emrys's cheek. The pleasant hover of magic disappears, replacing with a quick and _blistering_ push of heat. _Get away from me._

Emrys hisses wildly like a struck animal, eyes tinting an orangish glow.

He heaves himself towards the cot's end, holding tightly to his jaw and making pitiful noises.

Ignoring the silver of fear inside him, Arthur moves closer.

“Stop being such a girl's petticoat,” he says, patiently. “Let me see.”

“That _hurt_ , you cabbagehead,” he whines. Arthur rolls his eyes, before noticing Emrys's slowly bluing eyes fill with glistening tears. He pries Emrys's hand away, examining the flaming red mark. “Why are you wearing iron…?” Emrys asks, _sounding_ as if he was crying.

Arthur's eyes drop to his mother's beloved ring secure to his forefinger. He reaches back with his other hand, dragging away the line of moisture from Emrys's cheekbone.

“…I'm sorry,” Arthur says, expression guilty. “Will you be alright?”

A nod.

“For you,” Emrys tells him eventually, lips twitching to a small smile.

*

Spring blinks out of existence, leaving Arthur's body satiated and exhausted. And every season thereon, until his sun-browned and youthful skin begins to wizen, Arthur's joints creaking.

The crops ripen and flourish, unharmed by the pestilence devastating the lands. Other villages come flocking to them for protection and for the bountiful, celebratory harvests.

*

“Come with me.”

It's a plea, more than anything, and Arthur feels consumed by its weight.

With lips melding together, Emrys releasing a devout breath into him, Arthur feels his old, aching limbs strengthen. His rheumy eyes clear, and his tendons go firm.

“You gave yourself to me, Arthur…”

The burn mark on Emrys's jaw visible in the ruddy light and bruised plum.

“I'm not special,” he protests.

“You are _to me_.”

*

Twilight emerges, and then fades.

Arthur follows its path, and he never returns to his loneliness.

*

* * *

**#26**

**Pairing(s):** Gwen/Morgana  
 **Warning(s):** Underage, teacher/student, dub-con (of the Alpha/Omega sort)  
 **Tropes Smashed:** Biological Imperative/ Power Imbalances / (implied) Age Difference / (slight) Possessive Behaviour / (slight) Exhibitionism

 

Ms. Le Fay was the hottest teacher at Camelot Prep. Everyone agreed on this, even if their taste ran toward men rather than women.

She was also the most terrifying.

No one argued about her level of terrifying. What had people whispering and talking was why she was at Camelot Prep in the first place.

"I heard she can't find a job anywhere else," Elena whispered, as they gathered around the lunch table. "She murdered some poor Omega and now she's been blacklisted."

"She'd be in jail for that," Freya pointed out.

"Probably not. Everyone knows she's Pendragon's bastard and he'd get her out," Sefa argued. "She's here because her mate is here."

The rest of the girls at the table gasped, and Gwen felt a flood of warmth crash over her.

"But who could that be?" Elena asked, forgetting to keep her voice at a whisper. "Mr. Emyrs is the only Omega teacher and he's taken."

"Maybe she's fighting with Mr. Pendragon over Mr. Emyrs," Freya said, sighing wistfully.

"That's not right," Mithian said. "How about we make this easy? Gwen, you should go ask."

-

Ms. Le Fay was a dangerous woman, and Gwen knew that very well. Especially with the heat coursing through her and the way her panties grew damp as she approached Ms. Le Fay's door.

"Come in, Gwen," Ms. Le Fay said, before she could even knock on the door, and Gwen dutifully pushed open the door and stepped inside. Ms. Le Fay was looking at her, lounging in her chair with a smirk on her lips. "You wanted something?"

"I-I -well, we-we were curious about um...," Gwen started, flapping her hands about and trying to focus. The heat in her core flared, burning its way through her. Gwen couldn't focus, the room kept blurring around her and all she could see and smell and hear was Ms. Le Fay.

"About what, Guinevere?" Ms. Le Fay asked, rising out of her chair and walking toward Gwen. "The rumors?"

From a distance, Gwen felt herself nod.

"I didn't kill an Omega," Ms. Le Fay said.

"Not- not that-"

"Ah, the other one." Ms. Le Fay smirked at that, reaching Gwen's side, although she didn't touch Gwen. Gwen trembled and ached, the fire burning so fierce inside her she thought she might explode. She had to struggle to hear Ms. Le Fay speak. "My mate is here?"

"Yes. Is he?"

"She," Ms. Le Fay corrected. "And I'm not sure. Is she?"

Ms. Le Fay reached out, _finally_ , Gwen thought, and curled her fingers around Gwen's neck, tangling in Gwen's curls, and every other thought fled her mind except Ms. Le Fay.

"Is she?" Ms. Le Fay asked again, when Gwen failed to respond, and brought her other hand up to trace Gwen's lips. "Is my mate here?"

"Yes!" Gwen cried, and it felt like a benediction.

Ms. Le Fay pulled Gwen to her, crushing their mouths together, and it made Gwen tremble, the fire tamed but more intense despite - because of - that.

"My beautiful Gwen," Ms. Le Fay said, breaking the kiss and cupping Gwen's face in her hands. "You're going to be my good girl, aren't you? Mine and mine alone."

"Yes, yes," Gwen agreed, nodding frantically. The words were at once a balm and a fan, pleasing her soul and leaving her body aching for something she didn't understand. "Please, Ms. Le Fay, I need- I don't."

"I know what you need," Ms. Le Fay said. She dragged her hands down Gwen's sides, sliding beneath Gwen's skirt and into her wet panties. "I can't give you exactly what you need right now, but you're going to take this and go be my good girl, and come back here when classes are over."

She slid two fingers inside Gwen without preamble, but it wasn't enough. Gwen rolled her hips against Ms. Le Fay's hand, whimpering and trembling. Ms. Le Fay only laughed at her, gently, and slid a third finger in, thrusting sharply.

The stretch was a pleasant burn and, while not quite perfect, just enough that surged against Ms. Le Fay, crying out. She must have blacked out, because when she next opened her eyes, they were on the floor, Ms. Le Fay petting her hair.

"There's my girl," she said. "My beautiful girl. You're going to come back after school and I'll take you home and tie you to me, keep you in my bed forever."

* * *

**#27**

**Pairings:** Arthur/Mordred, mentions of Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warnings:** Listed in the tropes below  
 **Tropes Smashed:** Masturbation, mirrors, sex work, light d/s, brief mentions of exhibitionism

“He’s in there,” Merlin whispers once they reach the door.

“Merlin, I know. It’s not my first time with a client, you didn’t have to walk me here.” When Merlin just gives him a worried look, Mordred decides to bite. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, it’s just that… he’s mine.”

Mordred’s confusion lasts another second before he realises what Merlin’s getting at. “Is it… is it him?” Merlin nods. “But why does he want me?” Mordred shuts his mouth before he lets his voice rise enough for the man inside the room to hear.

“You’ll see?” Merlin suggests. “I’ll come see you after,” he promises and kisses Mordred’s cheek before he walks away.

Mordred gives himself a second before he presses the handle and walks inside.

He’s only been in the Mirror Room once before. He’s surprised to see it stripped of all the glass but for one of the walls, and the furniture - all that’s left is an armchair where the client is seated.

They regard each other for a moment, then Mordred’s lips curl into a smirk and he’s about to introduce himself when the other man stops him by simply raising his hand a few inches above the armrest.

“You’re not to speak,” the man starts, voice calm, “unless I say you can. This rule can only be broken if you want to stop at any point, for any reason. Is that understood?” Mordred takes a breath to reply, then catches himself and nods instead. “Good,” the man nods as well and rises to his feet.

Mordred’s intrigued, even more so than before. This is Merlin’s prized client standing before him and Mordred takes a moment to appraise the man as he comes closer. He’s all blue eyes and golden hair and pouty lips, but he’s got an air of quiet power around him that Mordred’s not quite sure he understands. He already wants to be good, wants to please him, and not just because he’s getting paid to do so.

When they’re face to face the client raises a hand to play with a lock of hair on Mordred’s brow. “You’re ready for me?” Mordred nods. “Good,” says the man again and leans in for a kiss.

His lips are chaste when he presses them to Mordred’s, but his hands are anything but; immediately they untie Mordred’s silk robe and one is pressed against the skin of his lower back, the sleeve of the no doubt expensive coat rubbing against Mordred’s side. A second later the hand slips along the crack of his arse and plays around his hole. A fingertip sinks inside and Mordred pushes back onto it, making the man chuckle.

“Merlin keeps talking about you,” he whispers in Mordred’s ear, then moves behind him and turns them around until they’re facing the mirrored wall. “How lovely you are,” he continues, walking them closer to the wall. “Had to shut him up with my cock more than once.”

Mordred swallows, picturing Merlin on his knees, the man fucking Mordred’s name back into his throat.

“You really are quite lovely,” the man murmurs as he places his head on Mordred’s shoulder and looks at their reflection. He unfolds the robe and makes an appreciative sound when his hands start roaming Mordred’s body. He reaches for Mordred’s pocket and takes out the small bottle of lube. “Give me your hand,” he says and Mordred’s automatically reaches up, ready to gather the lube spilling from the bottle. As it pools in his palm, the man speaks again. “I want you to touch yourself. Show me how you like it,” he says.

A little whimper escapes Mordred’s throat. He lets the man hug him closer, support him as he grasps himself and slides a hand up and down his cock. He doesn’t know what to do. Should he go at it right away? Should he make it last?

“Come on,” the man says, voice breathy. He lifts Mordred’s robe and slides two fingers in Mordred’s arse. “I want to see you come. You like people watching, don’t you? What if this was a one-way mirror? What if there were people behind it...”

“Ah,” Mordred says, then lowers his head, ashamed of his slip.

“It’s Arthur,” the man says and Mordred can hear his smile. He lifts his head to see it in the mirror, then closes his eyes against it when Arthur touches his sweet spot. “You can say it if you want to.”

Mordred ends up screaming it.

* * *

**#28**

 

Pairing: Merlin/Arthur; mentions of Gwen, Gwaine and Morgana  
Warnings: some roleplayed dubcon  
Tropes smashed: Forced proximity, mirrors, chastity devices, delayed gratification, possessive behavior, object insertion, beloved enemies, pornography, exhibitionism, power imbalance, clothes sharing.

 

Arthur Pendragon’s services were pricey and made to order. Those who could afford him waited months, and even then, he often turned them down. It was torture for clients, he knew, as they reviewed his grid and assembled their fantasy scenarios, knowing Arthur might decline.

Today’s client – a Merlin Emrys, young, awkward, sort of pretty – was probably a no, judging by how red he turned as Gwen explained some of the more _nuanced _terms on the menu. _Biological imperative?_ Arthur smirked. The kid would probably check off _clothes sharing_ and think he was being risqué. No thanks.__

 _ _When Emrys left, Gwen handed Arthur the order. _Forced proximity_ , _mirrors_, _chastity devices _, _delayed gratification_ , _possessive behavior_ , _object insertion_ , _beloved enemies_ , _pornography _, _exhibitionism_ , _power imbalance_ , and… _clothes sharing_____.

On second thought, Emrys was definitely in.

*

“So, Emrys… you thought you could get the best of me?” Arthur recited his line with a snarl. Emrys – _I’m Merlin_ , he’d said as he’d held out his hand – grunted as Arthur manhandled him, naked and handcuffed, into the old-fashioned, mirrored elevator and set it to emergency stop.

“Get on your knees.”

Emrys did what he was told. It never failed to amaze Arthur that people would pay thousands of dollars to be ordered around.

“All these years, defying me, keeping secrets…you thought you’d get away with it?” Arthur taunted. He did enjoy playing the comic villain.

Emrys looked up through his eyelashes. “I didn’t think you’d have it in you to retaliate,” Emrys taunted back.

Oh-ho.

Arthur ran his gloved hand down Emrys’ naked torso until he brushed Emrys’ cock, which was already swollen and leaking. Emrys’ eyes darted around the confines of the elevator, the scene reflected back at them in every mirror of the confined chamber. Arthur’s eyes met Emrys’ in one of the reflections, and behind him, Arthur heard the whir of the camera Gwaine installed.

Arthur leaned down to whisper in Emrys’ ear. “You hear that? That’s a camera. My mate is recording this, and then he’s gonna make sure everyone sees you begging for me to fuck you, to _own_ you, begging for me to take the cock ring off, begging me to let you come whilst I keep you on the edge for hours. My sister Morgana’ll edit it. She’ll make sure that every Tom, Dick and Harry watching this is just as desperate to come as you are by the end.”

Emrys’s eyes widened, and he gulped nervously. “I’m not wearing a cock ring,” he pointed out.

Arthur grinned. “Not yet,” he said, as he pulled out what he needed and got to work.

*

Arthur wasn’t sure how much time had passed – an hour, perhaps two, time _did_ fly when making dreams come true–when his mobile rang.

“Pendragon,” Arthur answered. He thumbed off the wicked vibrator he was currently working into Emrys’ arse so he could hear better, and Emrys wailed in disappointment. Arthur wasn’t sure why, considering how agonising it must be to have so much stimulation and no way to actually come – not with Emrys’ cock and balls tied up tight and pretty with Arthur’s red tie.

“I’ll certainly let him know,” Arthur said, then tossed the phone away. “That was our…cinematographer. He just wanted to let you know that it’s an incredible show.”

Emrys looked away, blushing.

“Can’t say I blame him,” Arthur continued, running his gloved hand over the seam of Merlin’s lips, forcing two fingers into his mouth.” You do look incredible like this. I wouldn’t mind keeping you.”

Emrys pulled at his cuffs and for the first time started to show real signs of panic. Arthur rubbed Emrys’ back carefully, and leaned in to whisper gently into his ear. “You know the word to stop this. Do you want to use it?”

Emrys shook his head.

“Good. ” Arthur set the vibrator to its highest setting and fucked it into Emrys until he cried, from stimulation or humiliation or both. Finally, Arthur maneuvered Emrys to face the camera, and after enjoying Emrys’ pleading a bit longer, quickly undid the knots around Emrys’ cock and jacked him in counterpoint to the thrusts of the vibrator. Emrys thrashed as he came, spurting over the mirrored walls and velvet trim and Arthur’s leather gloves until he collapsed, whimpering.

Arthur removed the cuffs and then covered Emrys with this trenchcoat. Emrys shook beneath it, and Arthur brushed a hand through Emrys’ hair. “So. Did I get your order right?”

A slow smile tugged at Emrys’ lips.

Another satisfied customer.

* * *

**#29**

**pairing** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning** None  
 **Tropes Used** Incest and Possessive Behavior

It was either the storm or the angered voice of his father, that woke Arthur. Curious, Arthur slipped out of bed.

“Why did you bring him _here_.” His father gestured to a boy, younger than Arthur, huddled next to Gaius.

“Sire, his mother is dead. You're his _only_ parent left.”

“Very well Gaius, but keep in out of my way.”

Gaius ushered the boy, about four, into the room across from his. Arthur had a little brother.

It soon became clear that their father didn't treat them equally. Arthur tutored under Geoffrey and took his training under his father. Merlin’s sole education was carried out by Gaius. Even his father’s ward, Morgana, had a better education than Urther gave his youngest son.

Arthur wondered if their father would have claimed Merlin, if Arthur didn’t eavesdrop that night.

It was a storm that killed Merlin's mother, Arthur learned the first time Merlin crawled into his bed, to keep the nightmares at bay.

It was during one harsh night, that Merlin, now about eight, cried out, waking Arthur. Rolling over to shake his brother awake, Arthur froze. His boots were floating. Magic! Arthur reached for the small dagger he kept under his pillow, slowly pulling it out as not to alert the witch. Glancing at Merlin's sleeping face Arthur paused at the sight of the burning gold in Merlin's eyes.

Merlin had magic, something Uther would kill him for. Arthur vowed to protect Merlin, even from their own father.

“Come _on Mer_ lin, just like I taught you.” Arthur raised his sword again, signaling he was ready to go.

“Arthur, not _all_ of us were born with a sword in their hand.”

“Which is why you need to work harder. Now try again.”

“What are _you_ doing here?” The washcloth was removed, and Arthur opened his eyes to see Merlin’s hands trembling slightly.

“Looking after Arthur, Father. Sir.” The last came out apologetic. Ten years since Merlin came to Camelot, and Uther still treated him worse than his own ward.

“Gaius is quite capable without your help.”

“But-” Merlin began but was cut off by Arthur’s hoarse voice.

“Gaius has the well being of the castle to look after. It's fine for Merlin to sit by my bedside and tend to my care.”

Trying to put authority in your voice was difficult, when you are naked waist up in your bed, with a hole in your shoulder, but Arthur wasn't going to allow their father to treat Merlin like a unwanted servant.

Plus he still needed to keep Merlin close, and safe.

Later that night, Merlin entertained Arthur with a tale of his latest visit to the dragon, before the both fell asleep.

Arthur didn't like Gwaine. Sure the man was loyal, and a great swordsman. But the man was a flirt, and was entirely too close to Merlin. Arthur saw the lazy smiles, how Gwaine’s touches would linger, or the way he could make Merlin smile.

And every laugh made Arthur to pull the knight away from Merlin, and drive a sword through Gwaine’s throat.

It came to a head one rainy afternoon when the pair came running in. Merlin looked so carefree, even when a thundercloud rolled above them.

Arthur left his chambers, meeting a slopping wet Merlin at his own.

“Hello Arthur, got caught in the rain,” Merlin said walking through the door. Arthur followed, kicking the door shut behind him. “Arthur what are you doing?”

Arthur stepped closer, pushing Merlin up against his bedpost. Threading his fingers through Merlin’s damp hair, Arthur tilted Merlin’s head back, forcing Merlin to look him in the eyes.

“Arthur?”

“What are you doing with Gwaine, Merlin?”

“Nothing Arthur,” Merlin throat bobbed.

“Merlin, he is not a good influence on you.”

Merlin looked confused, “Arthur, We haven't-”

“You've changed. Where's my Merlin that followed me around, worshipping me? Where's my brother I need to protect? I won't let him take you away from me Merlin.”

“No ones taking me away.” Merlin's eyes widen, “What are you doing?”

Arthur made a shushing noise, working Merlin’s breeches loose, “Showing you I can give you everything.” Pulling Merlin’s cock free, Arthur ran his fingers along the shaft. Arthur kissed Merlin’s chapped lips, begging entrance with a few nibbles to Merlin's bottom lip. Working his tongue inside, Arthur delighting in the warmth of Merlin’s mouth.

Every twitch from Merlin felt delightful under Arthur, and when Merlin came Arthur held him close.

“You're forever mine, Merlin.”

* * *

**#30**

**Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** Omega!verse, dub-con due to aphrodisiacs and possible heat  
 **Tropes Smashed:** Biological Imperative, Anonymous sex, Power imbalance, Mirrors, Rituals

“The omegas have elected a Warrior, my Lord.”

Merlin nods, silent. Names are irrelevant. The messenger bows and exits the room.

Merlin watches the sunset. The room is silent; only the slowly shifting lightplay marks the change of time, light saturating, turning darker; pale, orange, blood, then disappears. Night starts to settle. To be the chosen ones, Warlock and Warrior, for the Ritual of Life, it’s a great honour, he’s been told, it’s the miracle of life, the joy of giving. Ancient magic flows through the veins of their world – isn’t it a given that they should infuse it with the young they have to offer? There’s no bloodshed in it, no harm, no pain. Only magic, only… _life_.

Sleep doesn’t come to him that night.

***

It takes a few inhales for the incense to grip his chest like a tight cloth and spread warmth to and through his lower body. His cock throbs; Merlin can suddenly feel the texture of his smalls. He inhales deeper.

***

He is dimly aware of his shroud slipping from him; the soft material caresses his skin and tickles his neck; a whiff of cold air wraps around him like a second skin. The gates close. He’s in a round room covered in mirrors, surrounded by himself, each Merlin naked, each with an ornate mask. When he moves his head all the Merlins turn their heads to look at the gigantic bed on which the Warrior writhes. His strong legs open and close, thighs rub together, his body torn between weak attempts to satisfy itself with its own touch, and invitations for another’s attentions.

Merlin (doesn’t know how he’s reached the bed) spreads the Warrior’s knees and the view of his body takes his breath away.

The Warrior is fit and strong, truly, but he’s not all sinews, muscle, and bones. There’s meat on him, the outlines of his shifting muscles are smooth and even curvy, and all begs to be touched. His hands are taut and tied above his head with a thick rope. Merlin basks in the view of him, from head to leaking cock. A blond fringe. Half-lidded blue eyes. The mask hides everything else.

Merlin plants his hands on the sides of the Warrior’s torso and starts pushing in. Blue eyes flutter shut upon the breach and the Warrior tosses his head back; a muffled moan escapes him. Merlin’s teeth itch to sink into his Adam apple; his tongue feels thick and he needs to stick it out and lick and suck and taste the body beneath him, but he has a mask as well.

He pushes forward and arches his back to thrust deeper, thrust with his hips, harder, to make the obscene noises louder. The Warrior’s legs are on Merlin’s sides, caress him, guide him, pull him closer. His knees bump into Merlin’s elbows and Merlin straightens his arms to raise himself, and thrusts harder.

The Warrior moans and shifts his hips beneath Merlin. They’re forbidden from talking; moans and gestures are their only communication. So they writhe and shift and move together, work together, until the Warrior moans again, and then again, loud and pleading.

Magic, young, virile and fertile, flows through them, connects them, disperses to all the mirrors in which at least a hundred pairs of Warlock and Warrior are copying each and every move and sound in perfect sync. Merlin forgets about everything; all he can feel is their primal connection, how it tunnels something more powerful, something beyond them, and he needs to follow, he thrusts harder, harder harder harder until he reaches a peak and it arches his back and there’s only light, and the ecstasy of magic.

***

He fights and yells but they’re stronger, and they drag him away. Another two are holding Arthur on the bed. Now that Merlin’s mind is clear from the aphrodisiacs he knows what’s wrong – they’ve bonded, and he’ll live the rest of his life with a whispered name – _Arthur_ – to comfort him. He’ll always wake up when his fingers are about to remove the Warrior’s mask.

* * *

**#31**

**Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** (as well as stated tropes) Cock-warming, blowjob, dirty talk, facial, (?voyeurism if you want to read it that way)  
 **Tropes Smashed:** Exhibitionism + power imbalance

There's a knock at Arthur's door, and under his desk Merlin whimpers around his mouthful. Arthur reaches down and pets softly at his hair, comfort and warning, and then says, 'Enter.'

'Sir, I have the reports from the northern borders,' says Leon. Merlin squirms. He knows he's hidden by the tablecloth ... theoretically. Arthur's fingers tighten, tugging. Merlin is just supposed to hold Arthur in his mouth, to keep him warm and wet and ready, not to work him to hardness - not to seek pleasure before he's given it.

He shivers with a kind of hunger. He has to be good. He knows he can be good, do what Arthur wants him to.

Merlin barely hears Leon's reporting. Arthur's cock is mostly soft but it's still a mouthful, and he's drooling helplessly around it. But swallowing is against the rules. Leon is still talking. By the time he leaves, Merlin is so hard in his breeches he feels lightheaded.

Arthur puts both hands on Merlin's scalp and massages for a moment. 'I wonder if he knew,' Arthur muses. 'He's trained to spot ambushes before they happen - surely he could hear you breathing down there. Maybe right now he's with the knights, telling them what an attentive servant I have.'

Merlin stifles a moan in his throat. His fingers itch to curl around his own straining cock, but he mustn't. Arthur doesn't want him to.

'That's good,' Arthur croons. He tugs at Merlin's hair, and Merlin reluctantly starts to pull back. 'You'd do whatever I told you to,' Arthur says. It isn't a question, and his voice is heated and smug. He lets up the pressure and Merlin sinks back down, Arthur's cock finally starting to fatten between his sore, puffy lips.

'Because you're mine,' Arthur almost-growls, pulling Merlin off a little harder and then pushing him back down. 'If I wanted to you'd let me fuck you in front of all of them, put you on your back on the council-chamber table and pound you into it while they all watched. Wouldn't you?' he demands, Not giving Merlin time, space or air to respond. It doesn't matter - they both know he's got the right of it. 'You can't say no,' Arthur pants. 'Not to me.'

Arthur is Merlin's king. He could ask anything of Merlin and Merlin would give it. More than that though, Merlin wants this. Merlin needs this. Arthur is fucking his throat with a vengeance now and Merlin is almost floating, drugged docile on the thud of Arthur's cock within him, his own ramped-high desire cresting but not yet ready to break.

'I could call Leon back,' Arthur rasps, grinding Merlin's face into the cradle of his hips. 'You'd perform. Suck me while he watched. You'd get off on it. And if I wanted to I could tell you to please him too.' He draws Merlin back again, gives him a breath he sorely needs, all his blood in his cock and no air in his lungs, hunger in his belly for Arthur's words. 'But I'm a selfish man,' Arthur says, low and hard. 'Kings don't give, they take. And I would not share you, not for anything.'

Merlin's mouth is sloppy and full and he feels wet and thick and fogged, and so, so ready to come, his breeches riding against his cock, fat and sore. He clutches his heels to keep his hands off himself. He has to be good.

'But you'll give me what I want, won't you. You'll give me body, heart, soul -'

Yes, Merlin thinks hazily. Everything.

'Give me control,' purrs Arthur, thrusting deep and holding, deep in Merlin's throat, cutting off his air. 'Come for me, and oh, the world goes purple and glorious and Merlin chokes, feels his spine and his whole world melt hot and golden.

He resurfaces from orgasm to realise his face is wet from more than the tears of overstimulation spiking his eyelashes, that Arthur is coming, coming all over him, and Merlin's own cock gives a final weak twitch in his breeches as he licks a drop of come from the corner of his mouth.

There is a polite cough by the door.

'I'll come back later, then,' says Gwaine.

* * *

**#32**

**Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** none  
 **Tropes Smashed:** forced proximity + beloved enemies

No one would expect it by looking at him, but Merlin was a deadly footballer. He was fast, agile and could make the most ridiculously unlikely goals. The Ealdor Explosions used him to their advantage: the opposing teams were always startled the first they shook the hand of the seemingly scrawny, often clumsy, captain.

Arthur Pendragon, star player and captain of the Camelot Crusaders, hated Merlin. He knew it was an irrational hatred, stemming from their first meeting where Arthur mistaking Merlin for a benchwarmer, commented that Ealdor must be desperate for talent. During the coin toss, Arthur embarrassingly learnt Merlin was the captain, and later, as Ealdor won the match, he saw first hand why.

Arthur had never been able to swallow his pride. And to make matters worse, Merlin was the nicest bloke Arthur ever had the misfortune of meeting. So, yeah. Arthur hated him. Which explained why he was currently glaring down at his agent.

“It’s for charity, Arthur,” Leon explained, as if Arthur was a bit slow.

“I don’t care. Pair me with someone else,” Arthur snapped.

“It’s three weeks. You’ll survive.”

“But I hate that guy,” Arthur said in a tone that sounded suspiciously like a pout.

Leon snorted and switched his attention back his paperwork. “Get over it.”

…

Arthur had no idea who came up with the premise of the TV special, but they would be traveling around the UK, heading up charity football games, and living together: Captain vs Captain.

He glared at Merlin as the other man pulled his suitcase into their shared hotel room with a huge grin across his face. Of course Merlin would think this was fun.

It was going to be three long weeks.

…

Merlin team of celebrities and special guests won the first match. On their way off the pitch Arthur shoved him and snarled, “You’re damn lucky I don’t just break your leg,” which seemed somewhat random, but Arthur felt that his point was made as he stalked off.

After Merlin’s team won the second match, Arthur threw Merlin against the wall and held him there with his forearm. “Back the fuck off,” he gritted. Merlin looked confused, but said nothing as Arthur released his grip and stomped away.

When Arthur’s team won the third match, Merlin jumped into the celebrating bodies as if his team hadn’t just lost. He ruffled Arthur’s hair and gave him a slap on the back. Arthur just stood there in the middle of the celebrating crowd, confused and wrong footed.

Arthur avoided Merlin, sneaking off the field while Merlin’s team celebrated their next win. He wasn’t sure he could resist punching Merlin in the face in front of crowds and cameras. He stood in the shower cubicle, angry and annoyed and looked down to realize that he was achingly hard.

“Fuck,” he spat, and punched the wall.

…

When Arthur returned to their hotel room, he found Merlin showered and picking at some room service. Arthur stomped across the room, and Merlin stood up, backing against the wall as he took in Arthurs radiating anger.

“Why do you make me so bloody angry?” He snarled, crowding into Merlin’s space.

“I… um…” Merlin started.

“You’re so damn infuriating, you know that?” Arthur said between biting kisses. “You drive me insane.”

Arthur pulled at Merlin’s clothes, biting down on his neck, leaving a series of livid red marks across pale skin. Arthur spun Merlin around, pressing him down across the hotel desk, eyes locking in the mirror on the wall. Arthur’s pulse sped up as he took in the flushed, desperate look on Merlin’s face.

Merlin moaned and spread his legs as Arthur roughly pulled down his track bottoms. He arched his back, capturing Arthur’s lips in his own as Arthur’s fingers breached him, spreading and stretching him slowly. When Arthur finally pushed into Merlin, he felt all the frustration and anger fade away. Merlin met Arthur thrust for thrust, eyes never leaving Arthur’s in the mirror, not even when they both came and Arthur collapsed against his back in a sweaty mess.

Later, when they both lay exhausted on their own beds, Merlin rolled to one side and commented, “If this is what I get every time I beat your team, I just might make it all the way to the World Cup.”

Arthur snorted in the dark. “I still hate you.”

“I know,” Merlin said, but Arthur could hear the grin in his voice. “I know.”

* * *

**#33**

**Pairing(s):** Leon/Lancelot  
 **Warning(s):** None.  
 **Tropes Smashed:** Hurt/Comfort (emotional)  & Clothes Sharing  
Leon is having a bad day. Training is grueling, for one thing, and Leon arrives at the tavern that night sore and dusty and thirsty for stronger wine than is strictly available.

But the real problem is: Lancelot is slouching wearily at a corner table. He is wearing Leon’s shirt.

Leon know it’s his shirt, because of the gold embroidery on the collar, needled there by Leon’s own mother. It’s an accident, to be sure. They were all tripping over each other, in the armory, too tired to clean themselves properly. Lancelot surely just donned the first shirt he saw. Leon wonders idly whose shirt he is wearing.

The man is _stupidly_ beautiful, even tired from practice. He’d poured water over his head, Leon could tell, because his hair was still wet and sticking to his neck. Whereas Leon is sort of gangly—when he looks down at himself naked, his limbs are bony and awkward, as if his Creator had haphazardly attached them at the last moment. And his beard is scruffy, and his hair is some dirty, vaguely ginger color. But Lancelot. Lancelot looks like he was sculpted; his muscles all gracefully flowing into one another, his skin smooth, his hair a shiny, deep brown. Leon has seen practically everyone look at Lancelot with appreciation. Gwaine and Merlin and Elyan, and hell, even….the King and Queen.

Leon drops into the seat opposite Lancelot, already half drunk.

“Haven’t you got a bedmate somewhere to keep you company?” he says impulsively

Lancelot casts a surprised glance his way. “Me?”

“Course you. Everyone likes you.”

Lancelot snorts softly at that, and lifts his cup again, sips. “I am blessed with many friends,” he says eventually. It sounds bitter.

“What about Merlin?” he asked blankly, for Lancelot and Merlin were always thick as thieves, whispering, their heads bent close. “I thought you and he—”

Lancelot gives a curt shake of his head. “Merlin has…too many concerns of his own, and anyhow, I…”

He looks off into the middle distance, his face all transparent longing, before catching Leon’s gaze and shaking it off with a thin smile.

“I have been unlucky in love,” he says simply, which sounds like a vast understatement.

And Lancelot looks so _sad_ , and Leon is so _drunk_ , and the damp ends of Lancelot’s hair curl up like invitations, and Lancelot is _wearing Leon’s shirt_ , and Leon says,

“You could have me?” a bit like a question, in the end, because his brain catches up with his mouth and turns the whole stupid proposal into a squeak. He clears his throat. “Er. That is—”

“Yes?” Lancelot’s eyes are suddenly very, very focused. Leon has to blink a few times to lessen the eye contact. While he panics and searches for something to say, he realizes that Lancelot’s breathing faster. Lancelot looks interested.

Leon finds his courage: “Ah. Then, we could. I mean. Come…come with me.” Leon stands up, abruptly, his head swimming, and Lancelot _follows_ , still lithe in spite of the drink.

They wind through the tables and the people, out the back door, into the dark shadows behind the tavern, and Leon feels almost dizzy with the fact that Lancelot is still following him.

Leon comes to a stop under a darkened eave, and Lancelot circles him, puts his back to the wall, and waits. It’s so dark, Leon cannot tell his expression. The shining thread on the shirt collar picks up the light when he shifts on his feet.

“You did mean…” Lancelot says uncertainly, after a long moment, and Leon steps up and kisses him, and well. He did not expect this. He did not expect Lancelot to tremble and moan at the first touch of lips, and it makes Leon so eager that he drops to his knees to get at Lancelot’s laces.

“Please,” Lancelot whispers. “No one’s touched me in so long, I—” Which is _preposterous_ , so Leon sucks him down, plies his tongue against the underside of Lancelot’s cock. The world has committed a grievous sin in not volunteering to spread their legs en masse for Sir Lancelot, and Leon intends to redress this wrong. With cock sucking. Which seems less than the romance he deserves, but it’s a start.

Leon throws himself into it, bobbing his head, using his hands and lips and tongue, _goddamn this impossibly perfect man_ , because even his come tastes good.

Lancelot looks down at him, panting and grateful and wearing Leon’s mother’s embroidery, and Leon decides the shirt is his.

* * *

**#34**

**Pairing:** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warnings:** Age difference, underage, teacher/student, unsafe sex  
 **Tropes Smashed:** Age difference, power imbalance, accidental stimulation

He looks like summer—like days that last forever, playing outside and getting gravel worked so deep in your wounds you think you'll be leaving trails of tar-black sand behind you for weeks. He smells like summer, too, like sweat and grass, chlorine and your American grandmother's sweet tea, lemon wedge and all.

If Merlin is summer, then you're autumn, starting to turn, your leaves changing colour, changing texture, days growing colder, shorter, but the sharp scent of cider makes you a little bit perfect. You make people want to bring the smell of bonfires in on their manky old hoodies, to fuck on the living room floor with the telly on low and the heat on high, to drink tea in bed under several duvets with the windows thrown wide open.

More importantly, you make _Merlin_ want these things. You slow him down for a spell, just long enough to spread wide for you, show off the pieces of youth you miss (the smooth, hot skin; the fine, lean muscle; the impressive stretch of resiliency) while you make him come and come and _come_ , more than you ever could, even at his age.

 

The first time, Merlin came in his pants, squirming and quiet. You were sitting close, shoulder pressed firmly against his back. One hand resting on the bench behind him, your thumb brushed his jeans every time you reached across to show him something on the computer screen. The friction of natural movement, the heat of you through your basic white button-up got him hard, got him _off_.

He stopped breathing. You saw the wild, needy look in his eyes, pressed your palm flat against the small of his back. His hips surged just once, his mouth an open vacuum that drew in your gasp, your light, everything that made you a person who didn’t fuck your students. In one small moment, he changed you. The damp spot on his jeans lit you up with need, and you stopped being yourself. You were his, completely, and you will never belong to anyone else this way.

He wanted to blow you, his eyes wet with the force of his orgasm, and probably a bit of shame. He came again with his mouth around your dick, right there in the computer lab, the aircon on high, making your leg hair stand out straight.

When you didn’t come before his jaw ached, he almost cried, stammering apologies, red-faced and curled around himself. You shoved him flat on his back, pushed his shirt up past his nipples, kissed him hard and deep until he was writhing against you, his jeans chafing rough against your bare cock.

You got him naked from armpits to knees, fisting your hand in his hair and making him watch your cock sliding against his.

“I want you to come in my mouth,” Merlin begged, his tongue sliding wet between your fingers. Instead you smeared his saliva all over his chin just to make a mess of him.

His legs were pliant and easy when you pushed them back, and he watched with blown-black eyes as you pressed the head of your cock to his hole. Just touching him there had his dick dribbling out the last bit of come left in him. You had dried him out, and the thought of using up this eager boy had your cock twitching against him, strong squirts of come slipping over Merlin’s virgin hole, making him dirty, making him _yours_.

 

You let Merlin fuck you. You _beg_ him to fuck you, open yourself up while he watches. He’s terrified, thinks he’ll do it wrong and break the spell, make you remember that he’s only sixteen, that he’s your student—that he will leave you someday.

That’s why you need this.

He’s careful with you, tender. He lies between your thighs and kisses you and _kisses you_ , through two of his own quiet orgasms, until he gets you there, lays kisses across your neck and shoulders.

Your orgasm is a tide, easy and gentle and cresting, and he looks at your eyes, touches your face, sunk in you so deep you think he _is_ you.

“Arthur,” he says. You lean up for a needy kiss, and he is flush against you, holds nothing back.

“I love you,” he says against your lips, and you let out a sob. “I love you,” he repeats, again and again.

You believe him.

You believe him, and it makes you hate yourself.

* * *

**#35**

**Pairing(s):** MerlinArthur  
 **Warning(s):** power imbalance  
 **Tropes Smashed:** object insertion, power imbalance, comeplay, possessive behavior, clothes sharing, accidental stimulation, and a couple of others!

It started with the red hat.

Arthur had been inordinately pleased by how ridiculous Merlin looked, and by knowing that that he could make Merlin wear whatever he wanted.

Things escalated from there.

 

 

*****

By the time they were lovers, Arthur was deeply involved in what Merlin wore. He began by making suggestions (“the red scarf today, not the blue one”) and went from there to him ordering Merlin to wear clothes that belonged to Arthur.

“Arthur, your tunic is way too big for me, and the fabric is too fine for a servant. Everyone will think we’re sleeping together.”

“We are sleeping together,” Arthur observed calmly.

“Yes, but does the whole world have to know that?”

Arthur didn’t answer, just smiled and ruffled Merlin’s hair as he went out for training.

 

 

*****

Merlin had to wear Arthur’s clothes several days a week after that, and one morning he woke up to find that all of his underwear was gone, replaced with new ones made of the finest silk.

“I want you to think of me when the silk rubs against these,” Arthur murmured, cupping Merlin’s balls and squeezing gently.

“Oh, I’ll think of you, you tyrant,” Merlin answered, knowing that he the soft fabric would keep him aroused and edgy all day.

 

 

*****

Soon it wasn’t enough for Arthur to have Merlin sharing his clothes and wearing underwear prettier than Morgana’s. He started marking Merlin in other ways.

He would suck love bites into Merlin’s neck on banquet days, and laugh at Merlin’s attempts to cover them with his kerchief.

“Arthur,” Merlin hissed. “Everyone will know! _Your father_ will know.”

Arthur’s eyes went dark and his mouth was set in a fierce line, as if he were in combat. “Good. I want him to know.”

 

 

*****

One morning during sex Arthur pulled out just before he came, taking his prick in his hand and painting Merlin’s face and collarbones. When Merlin tried to clean it up, Arthur said tenderly, “Let me.”

He picked up the cloth and cleaned Merlin, but he left some, massaging the sticky fluid into Merlin’s throat and behind his ears.

“Don’t wash,” he ordered, his tone stern.

Merlin spluttered. “But… but… I’ll smell like you all day! It will be obvious that I just left your bed!”

“You’re finally getting the point, _Mer >-lin.” _

That day, Lance tactfully offered Merlin the use of the knight’s bath “any evening you want, really, we’re happy to share.”

The rest of the knights, the louts, hid grins every time they came near Merlin.

Gwaine was the worst, naturally.

 

 

*****

Arthur proudly showed Merlin a toy one spring morning. It looked like the wooden dummies the women used to soothe crying infants, but it was longer and bigger around, and made out of smooth iron. It even had a filigree design around the base.

“I had Tom make it for you,” Arthur smirked.

“You went to Tom for _that?_ Merlin said in a scandalized tone, blushing bright red. “What did you tell him it was for?”

“Don’t worry, I told him there was a baby in the castle with an unusually big mouth.” Arthur deftly turned Merlin around and pushed him over the table where they had just eaten, pulling down Merlin’s trousers. Merlin was spluttering again, but Arthur stuck the plug in Merlin’s mouth and said, “Get it wet!” before taking it out and jamming it into his ass.

It felt wonderful, and Merlin walked around with a hitch in his step and a bulge in his pants. No matter how much he tugged down his tunic, everyone knew that Arthur was fucking him by proxy all day long.

 

 

*****

Merlin finally asked Arthur why he was so possessive. “You know I’m yours, why do you have to prove it all the time?”

Arthur sighed heavily. “Let’s imagine that you are a prince with a manservant who you cherish above all things. And let’s imagine that the manservant is constantly doing stupid things in public, like lighting fires with sodden wood or making horses out of smoke for his own entertainment. If you wanted the manservant to keep his pretty head on his neck, wouldn’t it be a good idea to make it clear that he was more than a servant, that he belonged to you? So that people would think twice before accusing him of sorcery?”

“Oh.”

“Oh,” Arthur mocked. “Now go to sleep, little bird. Tomorrow’s another day, and I had Tom make a special surprise for you.”

* * *

**#36**

**Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur

**Warning(s):**

**Tropes Smashed:** pornography, delayed gratification, masturbation, object insertion

Merlin tapped on his desk. His blunt fingernails sent pings around the silent room.

He couldn’t believe he’d actually done it.

A ridiculous amount of replies blinked on his dash, each a response to his post.

_**SoStrechyItsMagic:** New to this. If you have a kink for a twink who can take just about anything, I’m your guy. ;) **Reply here.**_

Merlin accepted a few users, and made about $300. Just as he was about to start he clicked on a message from _**Dragon**_.

It offered $500.

Merlin blinked . . . twice, and smiled a predatory smile at the screen.

\--

Merlin flourished. Like a beautiful flower that was made of money. Within three weeks, Merlin had regulars, and had made enough for the next three months’ rent. Life was good.

Plus, he got off hard quite a bit, too.

Actually, life was great.

\--

When he signed on this time, Merlin was horny. He’d planned on taking a few request, but as he read through them he stopped short.

Dragon, who was Merlin’s best costumer, had actually written to him. Since that first night, Dragon hadn’t missed one of Merlin’s shows, but he’d never sent Merlin a request.

Unlike the others, Dragon’s payment continued to increase every show even though he’d never asked Merlin to do anything.

But it’s not like, Merlin was blushing over some unknown creepy guy who was perving his porn or something. No. Merlin was just . . . he found himself a bit interested was all.

Dragon had apparently broke the silent streak. He wrote wanting to know if Merlin would do a private show sometime.

Merlin had always turned those request done in the past, but he couldn’t bring himself to decline this one.

And if Merlin came a bit too fast and ridiculously hard that night it wasn’t because he’d set it up a session with Dragon the next evening. He was already horny before. Yeah.

\--

Merlin was late the next evening, but only by several minutes. When he got on though, Dragon wasn’t on yet either. Merlin tapped on the desk, and absently waited for . . . something.

Just as he’d started to contemplate signing off, a ping alerted him to Dragon’s arrival.

_Thanks for waiting._

\--

 _Such manners_ , Merlin thought as he bit back a moan. _The brilliant arsehole._

They were on their sixth private show, and Merlin hadn’t a clue what he was doing. He was buried to his neck in **_Dragon_**.

It started off simple enough, Merlin supposed. With Dragon typing and Merlin preforming sexual acts for money. But . . . things quickly changed.

Dragon told Merlin what to do. The prat was very demanding, and Merlin loathed to admit it, but he quite enjoyed it. Especially when the demands felt this fucking good.

Merlin slowly sank down on one of his bigger dildos. He had to go slowly, because he was on the brink of cuming already. Somewhere along the line, Dragon started adding in a new toy each session. The last three times he’d made Merlin wear a plug for nearly half an hour. The past two times Merlin didn’t even touch his cock for the full thirty minutes. Just his nipples.

Merlin hadn’t clue, but he knew that he’d never been so turned on in his whole life. He didn’t think he could stop now even if he wanted too.

A ping had Merlin eying the screen.

_Faster._

_;)_

Merlin did as he was told.

\--

Two months later and all Merlin figured out was that it wasn’t stopping. Some weeks were slow, others they would get in four sessions.

Ideally.

Merlin thought about this as he waited in line at the coffee shop. As he got out of line to wait a body suddenly slammed into him.

Merlin and the stranger looked at each other at the same time. Merlin swallowed and tried to find a charming smile for the fit blond bloke. He knew it was probably useless but it never hurt to try.

The man however, gaped at Merlin before he blinked furiously. His eyes narrowed suspiciously for a moment.

Then he blushed and stammered out, “um. Yes. Sorry. Coffee?”

\--

And for the rest of their lives, if anyone ever asked them how they met, well . . . a coffee shop made for a great cover story.

People didn’t tend to question love at first sight.

* * *

**#37**

**Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** n/a  
 **Tropes Smashed:** Hurt/Comfort, a little possessiveness and some accidental stimulation.

Merlin propped his cast on the table in front of the fire. A week skiing with his roommate and best friend Arthur and the rest of his mates sounded like a good idea, but the reality of a cracked shin and forced ensconcement by the fireplace wasn’t his idea of a good time. And his leg hurt.

His mates crashed through the front door, laughing and red-cheeked from exertion and the cold. Merlin grimaced; he really wasn’t in the mood. He took one of the pain killers he had been prescribed and shrank further back into his seat.

****

He’d refused much dinner, only eating a little of the soup Percy brought him. He took another painkiller, resigned to the carousing going on around him.

Finally, the clock rolled around to midnight, and Merlin felt he could go to bed. He took another painkiller and stood up. He felt light-headed, and kind of drunk. Must be the painkillers. Arthur jumped up and caught his arm as he went down.

“Whoa! How many of these have you taken?”

“Three, since about 4,” Merlin said.

Arthur retrieved the bottle. “Says you are supposed to take 1-2 every 8 hours, so you’re ok there,” he said. “You’re just a lightweight.”

Merlin felt a little giddy. “Shut up, clotpole,” he said, attempting to stand again. He reeled, and since he was wearing a cast, he almost fell again. Arthur caught him, and Merlin put both arms around his neck.

Arthur laughed. “Let’s get you to bed, you great blouse.”

****

Once in their room, Arthur helped Merlin to bed. Merlin kept his arms locked around Arthur, and pulled him down into the bed with him.

“Alright then, Merlin, let go.”

“No.”

“Merlin,” he said, without any response. Arthur sighed. “You’re clearly off your head, but I’ll stay.”

****

Merlin awoke slowly, aware of a throbbing in his leg, his head, and…his groin?

Someone’s hand….

He looked over his shoulder. Familiar blond hair…

Fuckety fuck, how did Arthur end up in his bed?

Merlin lay there, trying to figure out how to extricate himself and to recall what the hell happened the night before. He vaguely recalled deciding to go to bed… Arthur helping him…

Shit. He’d dragged the object of all his fantasies into his bed.

Now, said fantasy star had his hand wrapped around Merlin’s cock, which had taken a very active interest in the proceedings. Merlin shifted his hips back to dislodge the hand, but met Arthur’s hips instead. Arthur’s hand tightened, and his hips stuttered against Merlin’s arse.

Arthur was hard, too.

Merlin groaned aloud.

“Shhh,” Arthur whispered into his ear. “D’you want everyone to hear?”

“Arthur, what…”

“Finally have you where I want you, and you can’t tell me you don’t want me,” Arthur said, punctuating his statement with a squeeze. Merlin hitched his hips into Arthur’s hand, while Arthur’s dick rubbed into the cleft of Merlin’s arse.

“Fuck me,” Merlin moaned softly, rutting into Arthur’s relentless grip.

“That’s rather the idea,” Arthur purred in his Oxbridge accent. “Or you can fuck me, I’m open,” he added, letting go of Merlin’s cock and pushing him onto his back.

It didn’t feel like a first kiss. It felt like coming home after a long holiday, and Arthur moaned into Merlin’s mouth.

“Let me suck you off.”

“Yeah,” Merlin said. “Yeah, Arthur, suck my cock.”

Arthur did, and Merlin couldn’t keep quiet. Arthur’s hand cupped Merlin’s balls, and he worked a lubed finger into Merlin’s arse. All too quickly, Merlin was cumming down Arthur’s throat, begging to be fucked.

Arthur complied, rolling a condom on quickly and sliding slowly into Merlin until he bottomed out.

“Fuck, your arse, Merlin, God, how long I’ve wanted to do this,” he said. “I can’t even.”

“Yeah, Arthur yeah. Fuck me.”

“You’re mine,” Arthur said.

“Yeah,” Merlin agreed.

“Want you to fuck me too,” Arthur said.

“Yeah, anything just,” Merlin broke off, as Arthur hit his prostate. “Ahhh, AHHH, yeah!”

“Going to cum,” Arthur said, and did, pumping into Merlin. “Fuck, Merlin,” he said, sweeping Merlin’s hair back off his forehead.

“Fuck, Arthur,” Merlin said, leaning up to kiss him. “We get to do this again, right?”

“Often as you want, back home. We can make your room an office and you can move into mine.”

“Moving a little fast, aren’t you?

“We’ve been a couple all but sexually for three or four years, Merlin. I’d say we’ve gone pretty fucking slow until now, wouldn’t you?

* * *

**#38**

**Pairing(s):** Gwaine/Morgana  
 **Warning(s):** Soul-recognition with a built-in biological imperative, but they have the option to ignore it (concept borrowed from Elfquest)  
 **Tropes Smashed:** Biological Imperative, Beloved Enemies

Recognition.

Gwaine never expected it. There were so many tribes spilling out over the five great lands, so many lives lost through skirmish or illness as the healers dwindled in number. Most people lived their whole lives with lovemates and lifemates of their own choosing, giving their soulnames to those dearest, not to strangers in the shock of a first glance.

He went to his tribe's junior healer and said, "Fix this."

Merlin looked at him sadly and shook his head.

 

 

***

She sent her messenger, a crow with a voice like stone on stone. It cocked its head in the windowsill of his hut and called him to the sacred grove, at dusk, alone.

He fretted for hours, played dice with Percival and asked Elyan to let him pump the bellows at the forge to burn off this restless energy, the forge no hotter than his body's needs. But...

 _Lefay_ , his soul whispered. In the distance he felt the fluttering of crow's wings.

As the sun went down, he left.

 

 

***

The grove was cool and twilit, washed a soft lavendar. Animals rustled in the underbrush, but the small clearing was empty but for the faint gleam of doe eyes between the trees, watchful.

She stepped out of the shadows, her gown trailing blue midnight. She was beautiful, deadly, the junior queen of his enemies, now. He should strike her down, or wound her as a warning to the priestesses not to take sides among the tribefolk.

He reached for her instead.

The brush of their fingertips unleashed a roar like a mighty waterfall in his mind. His lifetime, her lifetime, rushing together in a torrent that spilled over the edge of everything he knew.

 _Walwen_ she sent, her mind-voice like bells. But behind the musical grace, he heard reluctance, even fear.

She had as much to lose as he did.

With that flash of empathy, his fingers tightened in hers. _I will not harm you._

She laughed silently. _As if you could._ She shared an image of her young dragon lying watchful in the woods behind him. But there was also an easing of the frost in her mind-voice.

Not fear of harm, then, but of rejection.

Breathing deep, he drew upon the memories given him by Arthur, Gwen - even Merlin - of a younger and more playful Morgana, before she chose the priestesses. Of the hardness in Uther's heart caused by the death of his lifemate. He could see the echoes of old fears inside her when he offered a glimpse of Uther's scowling face.

Well, he was Arthur's man, not Uther's. He let her feel that.

They warmed to each other slowly, the mental landscape between them shifting and uncertain. Gwaine lost himself in learning the contrasting heat and cool, the keenness of her mind and memories.

He woke to himself sometime later, stars bright overhead and them lying in the grass, his head pillowed on her chest. Grinning ruefully, he leaned up on one elbow and tucked her hair behind her ear.

"I won't change," he admitted. "I'm a hothead, drinker, and flirt. Probably a bad match for you."

She watched him with her strangely clear eyes, like she could see straight through him (she could).

_We'll see._

Her fingers twined behind his head and pulled him down to her. The press of her cool lips was soft at first, chased by a sharp nip. He laughed into her mouth, delighted as his body stirred again.

She rolled them over (he knew she would) and pressed his arms into the grass, pinning him with an imperious glare. _Stay._

He shuddered full-body, feeling her slippery dress slide against his skin as she opened his tunic, unlaced his breeches, bared him to the sky and to her long-nailed fingers. He was panting by the time she leaned back over him, a twinkle in her eye.

 _Shall I?_ she asked, though he saw the flush on her neck and knew she wanted this, too.

 _Please, please,_ he gave her, like an offering. She took it, rose up and sank down on him in one smooth motion, whiting out his mind with the sheer pleasure of touching her.

 _Mine,_ she sent fiercely, masks stripping away as she rode him into the prickling grass. "Mine."

It was the first time he'd ever heard her speak aloud.

"Yours," he gasped, throwing his whole heart into the word and damning the consequences.

* * *

**#39**

**Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** none  
 **Tropes Smashed:** clothes sharing, hurt/comfort

 

It’s snowing when he finds him, the chill of winter biting even through his coat.

Kneeling in a puddle of half-melted snow, his hands and ankles tied to a stake, he looks up at Arthur defiantly, even though he’s swaying with exhaustion, his whole body shaking.

“Here to finish the job?” he asks, coughing. If it wasn’t for the rope around his wrists he’d fall to the cold ground.

><><

The villagers won’t let them stay.

“Take the devil with you!” they yell. “He’s the one who brought this on us!”

The winter has been long and people started looking for someone to blame. This young man isn’t the first victim of people’s fear. Probably won’t be the last.

Wrapped in Arthur’s cloak, he doesn’t raise his gaze from the ground, unable to look at the angry faces of his former neighbours, people he thought were his friends.

Arthur doesn’t know who tosses the first stone, only hears the sharp cry as it hits the man’s leg. He’s ready to step in, reveal his identity, but then the next rock stops right in front of the man’s head, hovering there while his irises shine bright gold.

“I helped you! Day after day I made your crops grow stronger, cured you and your children from diseases that would bring only death to your door, never asking for anything in return. And this is your thank you? Letting me freeze to death? Throw stones at me?” He pauses, breathing heavy. “I could burn this whole village to the ground! I could kill you with a snap of my fingers! But you know what? I won’t do it! I’m not a monster. You are!” he yells.

He lets the rock fall to the ground, turns towards Arthur.

“You can take me back to your king now,” he says, lifts his head to meet Arthur’s gaze. “If you could ask him to choose beheading instead of pyre, I’d be very grateful.”

All the power coursing through his body and he’s surrendering to Arthur? Why? The initial shock is slowly subsiding and Arthur feels something else settling deep inside him. He wants to know more about this stranger.

“What’s your name?” he asks.

The man looks surprised, but answers.

><><

Arthur wants to erase the haunted look from Merlin’s face. He’s been Arthur’s manservant for eight months and saved his life many times since. He knows Arthur knows, but they never speak of it. Magic is banned after all.

Still, Arthur wants to erase the haunted look from Merlin’s face.

><><

The fire doesn’t give enough warmth to stop their shivering. The blizzard caught them unprepared, forced them to seek shelter in the shallow cave they stumbled upon as they trudged through the woods.

Merlin’s fingers are red from the cold as he pushes them closer and closer to the flames.

“You’ll only burn yourself this way,” Arthur says and pulls off his own gloves. Merlin protests at first, but eventually gives in, sighing as the bit of warmth envelops his hands.

“Thank you,” Merlin whispers and locks his gaze with Arthur’s. He’s not thanking for the gloves.

His expression is open, earnest, a bit of hope finding its way in. It stirs that secret feeling in Arthur’s heart, makes him braver. They share their first kiss, lips blue from cold.

><><

Merlin’s feet are cold when he climbs into their bed, pressing them to Arthur’s calves. Merlin’s everything seems to be cold as Arthur slowly wakes up to his consort’s attempts at using him as his personal bed warmer.

“What took you so long?” he grumbles, but takes Merlin’s hand and starts rubbing warmth into it.

“Too many are ill in the lower town.”

That explains the frozen limbs. Merlin got better at keeping himself warm, but exhaustion always turns him into an ice cube.

Arthur turns around, slots his thigh in between Merlin’s legs and pulls him flush to his body. Merlin wraps around him and gasps when Arthur starts rubbing his thigh against Merlin’s groin. He’s rocking his hips to meet Arthur’s movements in no time, letting out small cut-off moans. It won’t take much now.

He rolls Merlin on his back and grinds harder, chasing his own release as the new position grants him more friction. Merlin’s fingers dig deeper into his back and he stops breathing for a second, his whole body taunt as his orgasm overwhelms him. Arthur comes a moment later, Merlin’s fingers combing through his hair.

And no one is cold anymore.

>

* * *

**#40**

**Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** sex slavery  
 **Tropes Smashed:** Power Imbalance, Delayed Gratification, implied Age Difference

The new slave is inadequate.

Arthur wants to never stop fucking him.

“What’s your name?” he says, nuzzling behind his ear where damp, dark hair curls. The slave smells good, like perfume and come. Arthur tightens his arms around the shuddering body, still twitching from orgasm, sticky fingers splayed over the flat stomach.

“Mer—Merlin.”

“Well, Merlin. That was quite fast, wasn’t it? We’ll have to work on that.” He traces a finger along the softening length of Merlin’s cock and smiles at his whimper, then brings his hand up for Merlin to suck at his own mess. “Rule number one: unless he orders you differently, King Uther must always come first.”

Merlin’s pale chest is red and splotchy. He squirms in Arthur’s grip.

“I’m sorry, Sire. I don’t—”

“Shhh, it’s okay. That’s why you’re with me, see? We’ll get you there.”

They don’t.

Merlin is sensitive _everywhere_.

He gets hard and leaking before Arthur has even touched his cock. He shivers and moans at every brush of Arthur’s hands, and can’t help rubbing his dick on anything he can, like an overeager pup, as Arthur kisses him, makes him ride his cock, fucks him from behind. Arthur ties him up just to see how long it’ll take for Merlin to come untouched while Arthur licks and mouths at his balls, or fingers him open and wet, or spanks him into a red, crying mess.

It takes no time at all.

It’s the most beautiful thing Arthur’s ever seen.

Arthur’s father likes his slaves well trained and efficient. Likes them to last for hours, to know every way there is to suck a cock, to fuck and get fucked. Likes them to be good at it.

Arthur likes them new and sloppy. Likes to be the one to show them how to take a cock in their arses or cunts, hold their hips and guide them. Likes to get his mouth on them to demonstrate, to teach. He relishes their shy smiles and embarrassed blushes, the way their bodies jerk and shiver, the way they moan and writhe and cry out in surprise before they’ve learned how to control themselves, how to fake it.

Merlin doesn’t learn.

Arthur drags him into his lap, back to chest, and opens Merlin’s legs with his knees. He tips Merlin’s head back on his shoulder with a hand on his throat without squeezing—just there, feeling the way he swallows, the vibrations of his whimpers, the rabbit-skitter of his heartbeat.

“We’re going to take this slow,” Arthur says as he runs his other hand over Merlin’s chest, a sheen of sweat breaking over his skin. Arthur flicks at Merlin’s nipples and smiles in the crook of his neck when Merlin jolts and thrusts his hips out. Arthur spreads his legs wider.

He skims Merlin’s hard cock with his fingertips and Merlin twitches and moans in his arms—always so responsive, so eager to please—and Arthur muffles a groan against Merlin’s throat, takes a deep breath to stop himself from throwing Merlin face down on the bed and fuck into him in a long, hot glide.

Instead, he grabs Merlin’s cock in a tight fist and tugs—once, twice—rubs the palm of his hand over the leaking head. He takes a second to taste the wetness on his skin, the saltiness of Merlin so good on his tongue.

“Sire, I—I’m—” Merlin thrusts into Arthur’s fist and Arthur knows he’s close to coming, the beautiful red of his shame and pleasure spreading over his pale skin.

 

Arthur gets a punishing grip on Merlin’s cock, letting him thrash desperately into his hold, orgasm flaring under his skin without release. Arthur waits until he’s calmed down, panting wet and loud as he turns his head to lick at Arthur’s face like he can’t bear to have nothing filling his mouth.

“Sire,” he says, hoarse and broken. “Again.”

So Arthur does it again. And again.

On the fifth try Merlin stops Arthur, fingers on his wrist, and comes—comes for what feels like forever with a raw sound of relief, pleasure and pain ripped from his throat that nearly makes Arthur come with him.

“You’re the worst slave I’ve ever had,” he says, delighted at Merlin’s impudence. His cock is so stiff between Merlin’s cheeks, rubbed tight and warm. He holds Merlin to his chest, drags his lips over Merlin’s jaw to lick at the corner of his opened mouth. “I’m keeping you.”

* * *

**#41**

**Pairing(s):** Gwen/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** implied D/s  
 **Tropes Smashed:** Delayed gratification, object insertion (sounding)

There's something lovely about the way Arthur squirms, his hips jerking up, needy, his eyes fluttering closed - that just does things to her. Makes her want to tease him, hold him down, rub her arse over his cock, see his muscles jump as he strains against her, have him naked and vulnerable while she's still dressed.

Gwen always thought she liked pale, lithe boys until she met Arthur, with his arrogant grin and serious eyes. Having all that strength held in check makes her hot like nothing else. She loves him when he's desperate to fuck too, when he comes up from licking her, mouth wet and sticky, hair tousled, smirking like he's won the lotto, cock hard against her belly.

"Not yet," Gwen pants, when he tries to slide between her thighs. She tangles their legs together, keeps him close.

"You sure?" Arthur asks, butterfly-kissing her neck until she bats him away.

"Positive. I want to do terrible things to you first," Gwen admits.

"Ohh," Arthur closes his eyes. "I suppose I can't say no to that." He can, of course, but Arthur likes to pretend otherwise.

When she presses her thumb over the tip of his cock, he twitches. Gwen licks her hand and does it again, dragging it over the spot under the head. He kisses her, open and breathy, when he comes, hips stuttering as Gwen milks the fluid from him.

It gives her ideas.

She's done it before, just not with Arthur. But she knows the idea excites him. She really wants to see how he'll take it.

* * *

Washing her hands and assembling her tools, alcohol wipes, lube, and surgical gloves centers her and brings her arousal down to a simmer. The metal rods are sanitized but she wipes them again. There's a plug as well, shorter but wider than the sounds.

Arthur hums happily when she pulls his arms up and handcuffs his wrists to the headboard. Gwen thinks he's more awake than he's letting on.

"What're you up to?" Arthur cracks one eye open. Gwen's sitting cross-legged next to him. "You have that evil smile on," he raises his head, looking her over, "and nothing else." Gwen giggles.

"I want to try something," she says.

Arthur raises an eyebrow. "Is it going to hurt?" Gwen shakes her head.

"It shouldn't. Not if I do it right."

Arthur catches sight of the sounds and his eyes widen. "Ohhh." He gulps. "Er, carry on."

* * *

Gwen traces the flush on Arthur's chest with her fingertips. He shivers, muscles tightening and releasing, breath bursting out of him when she runs her hand over his taut stomach. He's so relaxed, so trusting, her heart clenches.

It's good that he's soft, makes it easier. Arthur whimpers when she peels back his foreskin and smears lube around the slit. Gwen presses her legs together.

When she places the sound against his urethra, Arthur's dick practically swallows it up, it goes in that easy. He moans, his legs shaking. Gwen is torn between watching his face and watching the slim piece of metal slide home. She controls the angle, the speed. About an inch, then she gently rocks it back. Arthur's mouth is slack, panting. He clenches up as it comes out, like he's trying to keep it inside, and moans, surprising them both with how loud he is.

Gwen applies more lube to the sound and lets it slide back down, deeper this time.

"How does it feel?" She's rubbing his thigh. When he tries to press up into it, she straddles him.

"I don't know," Arthur's face is wondering, open. "Intense. Totally different."

"Hurts?"

"No," Arthur shakes his head, hips hunching. Gwen takes her hands away and just watches, as Arthur's muscles press the sound up, up, forcing it out. Then he collapses and it slides back in. His cock is hardening, the head red and bulbous.

"God, I could just leave you like this," she says. "Let you ride it."

Arthur keens. "Don't, don't leave me--"

"I won't," she shushes him, leans over to kiss him, stroke the sweat on his forehead away. "Shh. I won't."

* * *

The gem on the head of the plug is so pretty glittering at the tip of his cock. When she slides onto him, it presses right against her G-spot. Arthur's brow pinches.

"Arthur," she groans, clenching around him, "Oh, love."

He's almost weeping when she finally draws the plug out, a trickle of come wetting her hand.

* * *

**#42**

**Title:** Mad About The Boy  
 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur Pendragon  
 **Warning(s):** Bite kink  
 **Tropes Smashed:** Possessive Behaviour and Exhibitionism

The crowd was deafening and Arthur frowned; gig’d ended hours ago, didn’t they have homes?

“They know I’m taken.” Merlin wiggled his hand, ring glinting as he kissed Arthur’s pout. “They’ll leave.”

“Hmmm,” Arthur drew his husband closer; Merlin was his, and Arthur hated sharing him.

“I’ll just-” Merlin slipped away and stepped onto the balcony. Arthur knew the second the crowd glimpsed movement, cheers erupting.

This was _their_ time and suddenly Arthur can’t take it anymore; he’ll show everyone precisely to whom Merlin belongs.

Leaning on the balcony wall waving down to the crowd, Merlin felt Arthur’s nimble fingers at his waist, unlacing his pyjamas, unseen from below and Merlin shivered as Arthur teased the soft curl of his cock.

“Arthur!” Merlin’s eyes bulged.

“Keep waving,” Greedy hands pushed flannel off jutting hips to the floor, Arthur stepping close and grinding his clothed groin against Merlin, pushing him into the wall with effortless propriety, trapping him between rock and hard cock.

“You’re mine.” Some dark feeling within him burned to the surface, a feeling of desperate possession, hands tightening on Merlin’s hips.

“We’re outside! Paparazzi–people’ll _see_!”

“See you’re mine.”

Arthur’s palms stuttered along Merlin’s sides, cupping the sparse curve of ass, fingers rubbing Merlin’s hole.

“Ar-”

“Say it,”

Merlin’s head tipped back onto Arthur’s shoulder, shuddering when Arthur nosed his throat.

“I’m yours.”

“Again,” Arthur demanded.

“I’m yours,” Merlin chuckled, “lemme put my pants on!”

“They can’t see a thing from there; vague shape with ridiculous hair.” Arthur’s breath heavy on Merlin’s nape.

“You think they can see your hair?” Merlin snarked.

“If you’re gonna be like that...” The heat down Merlin’s back disappeared, a rush of cool air washing over him as Arthur strode away.

“Fabulous,” Merlin muttered, kicking off his pyjamas. He stared over the railing for a minute; was the crowd bigger?

Playful fingers had Merlin jumping, a not-at-all-a squeak lost into the night. A glance down revealed Arthur, naked, sliding between his legs.

“Keep waving,” Arthur instructed calmly, kissing down Merlin’s cock, hands dancing over Merlin’s skin, ghosting over that gorgeous ass to palm heavy balls.

Merlin waved as Arthur kissed and licked across his stomach, tonguing the shiny-wet head of Merlin’s dick, each touch too much and not enough.

“Them down there,” Arthur growled, throat rough with want, though in his lust-mad haze Merlin detected a vulnerability to his husband’s voice, “ _all_ want you. You think I’d ever allow it?” He tongued up the length of Merlin’s cock as wet fingertips tapped a rhythm on his hole before pressing unforgiving knuckles into Merlin’s perineum.

“Fuck!”

Arthur smirked, focusing his movements as his other hand stripped Merlin’s cock, the slick sound of it lost to the roar of the crowd, Merlin sobbing Arthur’s name as they screamed his.

It wasn’t enough; Arthur needed to _take_. Arthur released Merlin, ignoring the muffled sob from above, sliding two fingers into his own mouth, leering around them at Merlin’s glazed expression, slipping them free to walk them behind Merlin’s balls to his hole, breaching him without preamble, crooking his fingers deep in that gorgeous ass, adding a third quickly.

“Public portion of the evenings over,” Arthur snapped, yanking Merlin down and out of sight before rearing up and pushing Merlin to his back, entering him in a glorious slide, splitting him open with a deep-hot stretch. Something in Arthur snarled in satisfaction, frenzied thrusts punctuated with a growled _‘mine’_ as they fucked, savouring Merlin’s moans and the lewd wet sounds of their bodies meeting. It won’t last, nothing this intense does.

Merlin’s overwhelmed; with the thick weight of cock within him, Arthur’s wild, exposed gaze, and possessive curl of strong arms under his back. With the feel of his cock riding Arthur’s abs, and scrape of brick at his back through sweat-drenched tee; he felt _mounted._

“Come in me, come in me,” Merlin babbled, utterly wrecked, lips seeking Arthur’s in sloppy, desperate kisses, urging him on, Arthur’s teeth bared as he buried himself within Merlin, triumph burning over his skin.

Merlin was quiet when he came; a gasp and warm come between their stomachs. He clenches down on Arthur, wringing out his release, desperate whines escaping Arthur as he ground his hips into Merlin’s ass, teeth clamping into Merlin’s shoulder. Long after it became too much, Arthur humped into Merlin, a warm sense of contentment at claiming his husband blooming.

Merlin smiled, tired and debauched, hands finding Arthur’s, lacing their fingers together.

“You’re mine,” he vowed.

They lie together long after the crowd has left.

* * *


	3. Group C (warnings)

**#43**

**Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur + Morgana watching  
 **Warning(s):** dub-con, rough sex, some fantasies involving half-sibling incest  
 **Tropes Smashed:** Biological Imperative, Forced Proximity, Rituals, Mirrors, Masturbation, Anonymous Sex, Possessive Behaviour and Incest.

Watching Arthur through the two-way mirror, Morgana can't deny that her half-brother is attractive. Especially like this, standing with his chin raised in defiance and blue eyes blazing with anger.

He's still wearing trousers, but they took everything else when they prepared him for the ritual. Black runes curl across Arthur's arms and chest now and Morgana's eyes glide over his body appreciatively, the knowledge that it's her magic marking him such surprisingly arousing. Maybe she'll have some fun after everything is done.

But first they have to complete the ritual. Arthur will help them – quite unwillingly – to initiate the last remaining warlock in the way the Old Religion demands. Merlin will come into his power and together they will bring magic back into the world. The signs are right; Arthur is just a means to and end. It's one of natures worst mistakes that all warlocks are Omegas, needing an Alpha to reach their full potential. What was meant to protect, led to slavery and almost distinction, but today that's going to change.

''Bring him in,'' Morgana whispers the command. She's quite looking forward to the show.

\---

Arthur whips around when the door to the room opens and Merlin stumbles inside. The warlock is naked, skin flushed despite the cold and already deep in the fever of his first heat. His scent hits Arthur like a living thing, and Morgana sees her brother's eyes widen. His nostrils flare and she imagines how his blood must come close to boiling in his veins.

As realisation dawns, Arthur tries to draw back, but there's nowhere to go and the lure of the naked Omega before him is just too strong. A minute later Arthur's on the floor, holding Merlin in his lap and biting at the tender skin of the boy's neck, growling when Merlin whimpers in need.

Morgana bites her lip, watching Arthur's fingers travel down Merlin's spine and into the valley between his cheeks.

''Yes, Gorgeous, right there. That's what you want...''

Instead, Arthur pulls back. It obviously costs him, but he grabs Merlin's face, forcing him to meet his eyes.

''Who are you? Why are you doing this?''

But Merlin is too far gone, writhing and clawing at Arthur's chest in his desperation.

''Please...please... it hurts.''

He bares his neck in an unmistakable sign of submission, and that's all it takes. Arthur is lost. He pulls Merlin into a bruising kiss and then turns him around, pushing him to the floor. On his knees now, Merlin's pert bottom is raised like a bitch in heat and Morgana watches as Arthur pulls his cheeks apart, exposing the boy's hole, where the smell is strongest and he's already wet and dripping.

As he bends down to lick along Merlin's cleft, Arthur suddenly looks up and he _can't_ see her through the mirror, but his dark gaze is directed right at her. Her breasts tingle and wet heat pools between her legs. She watches her brother thrusting two fingers into an eagerly moaning Merlin and slides a hand down her belly, breathlessly stroking herself through the silk of her panties.

Arthur grabs Merlin's hair then, pulls his head up until he, too, is facing the mirror with his back arched and his mouth open and panting. There's a challenge in Arthur's eyes as he lines up and roughly impales Merlin on his cock.

He rams into Merlin's cunt, fucking the boy hard, and Merlin squirms, trying to push back and force the Alpha to go faster. But Arthur holds his hips with bruising force, as if he wants him to know who's in control - wants _Morgana_ to know who's in control – and Morgana lets out an angry hiss as her orgasm hits her. Oh, he has _no_ idea who he's up against.

They come together, Merlin with his cock untouched and pliant in Arthur's arms now, slumping against his broad chest. Still buried inside of him, Arthur soothingly strokes Merlin's damp skin. There's a strange affection in his eyes.

But then the door opens again and Morgause steps into the room.

''It's done,'' she declares with a small, cruel smile. ''You better kill him now, Merlin, while he's still weak.''

Merlin looks up. His eyes are burning with his new found power and Morgana holds her breath. Arthur will die now.

Instead there's a guttural shout and the mirror shatters, shards falling like rain around her. When she looks up again, her sister lies on the floor unmoving and Merlin is staring right at her.

''Don't you _dare_ to harm him,'' he growls. ''I am his now.''

* * *

**#44**

**Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin, Merlin/knights  
 **Warning(s):** underage, dub-con, gangbang and felching  
 **Tropes Smashed:** power imbalance, comeplay, rituals, age difference

"How old are you?" Arthur asks.

When the boy doesn't answer, Arthur puts one gloved hand underneath the boy's chin, hoisting his face up to have a look. He sees pale skin and huge blue eyes, their pupils blown wide in panic.

"This winter will be my sixteenth," the boy whispers. Arthur wouldn't give him more than thirteen, but this is how they are; the little malnourished peasant boys outside of Camelot are all skinny arses and bony knees.

Arthur sighs. At least the knights have made an effort to bring him as old as they could find. The rules are unbreakable though—the vessel must be pure for the Earth Goddess to accept the sacrifice. He wonders how much magic there is in the boy, and if it will be enough.

The ground underneath their feet is dry, the yellow, brittle grass cracking under his boots when Arthur moves back.

"Do you know what's going to happen, boy?" Arthur asks, slowly taking off his gloves. He hands them to the nearest knight, a dozen of whom are forming a circle around the sacred ground.

The boy nods. He's so calm, Arthur wonders if they’ve drugged him before preparing him for this ritual while bathing him and oiling his skin with scented balms, painting his wrists and chest with holy runes.

"Your name?"

"Merlin, Sire."

"Give me your hand, Merlin."

When the boy shivers at the sight of the silver blade, Arthur turns him around and wraps one hand over the boy's naked chest, holding him still. He cuts Merlin's skin right above the wrist, where the blood will run fast and pure but won't have trouble healing. Red drops fall to the ground.

“Let me,” Arthur says, curling his fingers around Merlin's limp cock, bringing it to hardness with quick, skillful strokes. The boy must spill to feed the earth. Besides, it'll be easier for him to accept Arthur later.

Merlin comes almost soundlessly, only shudders and stuttering breath indicating he’s spent. Arthur pushes on his shoulders and the boy kneels. It makes Arthur’s breathless for a moment, seeing those plump lips so close to his cock. But this is not what the ritual demands, so he makes Merlin lie down on his stomach with his knees curled up under his body.

"I see they've prepared you well." Arthur groans, feeling the boy's hole oiled and stretched for him.

The first thrust sends sparks along Arthur's body. He grips Merlin’s hips, trying to calm himself, to not show weakness in front of his knights. The boy whimpers and Arthur grits his teeth, going slowly until his cock’s twitching deep inside the boy’s tight hole.

He stands later, next to the holy fire, watching the knights go one by one. They’re thrusting hard but none of them is brutal. Still, once they're done, the boy's left on the ground panting and disoriented, leaking seed into the dry soil.

Arthur knows he shouldn't, but he's the king and no one can forbid him. He unclasps the silver pin of his cape and wraps the boy in red fabric. He weighs almost nothing when Arthur lifts him off the ground, carrying him to his chamber. He lays the boy down on the bed and fetches a goblet, holding it to his lips.

“This is sweet mead. For strength.”

He climbs on the bed and spreads Merlin’s legs. They boy's hole is swollen and gaping, still slowly oozing the seed of all the men. Arthur thumbs at the puffy pink flesh, gently rubbing a bit of the foamy release into the rim. Then he bends down and kisses those skinny buttocks, dragging his tongue towards the hole and lapping at the seed.

"I'll eat you clean, sweetheart. You'll feel better."

Merlin's mouth is open, the tip of his tongue visible when he licks his lips.

“Please, Sire.”

Arthur sucks on the bitter seed and wraps his hand around the boy’s straining cock. He pumps a few times while jabbing his tongue inside. When Merlin cries out Arthur smiles, because this time it’s only for him.

He can already feel the power rising in the wiry body of this boy. The candelabras and plates are rattling on the table. Merlin lies still with his eyes closed, sweat dripping from his temples. Outside, thunder booms and rain pours down, feeding the greedy earth. The sacrifice has been accepted.

“You’ll be mine,” Arthur says as he covers Merlin with blankets. “My warlock.”

* * *

**#45**

**Pairing(s):**  
 **Warning(s):** underage (according to UK law)  
 **Tropes Smashed:** age difference, masturbation

 

Mr P, Merlin’s PE/History teacher, deserved a lesson. Lately he’d been driving Merlin bonkers with all the subtly flirting back. Merlin could’ve ignored it (really), except then he just couldn’t anymore. Because, God—you didn’t say, “There’s something about you,” without meaning anything by it, even if you seemed shocked by your own words right after.

Merlin needed a plan. And while the plan ‘pretend to collapse in a corridor before Mr P’s eyes’ wasn’t brilliant, it worked.

By accident, the corridor in question was one with only a closet. Merlin mumbled something about needing to sit down when Mr P came running. Out of the nearby closet peeked (equally accidentally) a chair.

As soon as Mr P stepped inside, Merlin shoved the chair outside and closed the door.

Mr P immediately whipped around. “What—?”

Leaning against the door, Merlin said significantly, “I was hoping we'd have a _private_ tutoring session.”

Mr P spluttered. “Merlin, you know this isn’t—”

 _Oh, no. You’re not doing that_. “There's something about me,” he said boldly, staring Mr P down.

Mr P was a prat but no liar. He paled, avoiding Merlin’s gaze. He remained that way, letting Merlin wait, nervous. At last Mr P glanced up. Once his eyes met Merlin’s, they stayed there. He was wearing that same soft gaze like always when he looked at Merlin thinking no one saw. “Merlin,” he said, quietly, “we can’t. You’re my student, and—”

Merlin actually laughed from relief. “I’ll graduate in a month,” he reminded Mr P, grinning. “And if you don’t help me out here I’ll probably fail my exams. My hand won’t work anymore due to... well. Um... overworking... my wrist.”

Mr P’s groan became a strained laugh. “You’re impossible,” he said. Merlin’s chest clenched at the fondness in his voice.

“Well, I mean, technically nothing happens if you just...” Merlin swallowed. “If you just, just talked and—didn’t touch me.”

Mr P stilled. Merlin, biting his lip, let his hand travel down, keeping it at the top of his thigh. The entire atmosphere shifted when Mr P nodded, slowly.

The _snik_ of the zipper was obscenely loud. The hardness of Merlin’s prick was obscener; it was leaking precome already, eager. Merlin felt crazy, felt powerful, stroking a hand up his length, making Mr P lick his lips. “Is that the something about me?” he asked, hushed.

Mr P looked up, lips parted. He stared, one moment, two. Then it was a flurry of, “Yes,” and, “ _No_ ”, and, “I just—”

“I know,” Merlin said, breathless. So he _was_ right. He swallowed, had to keep talking to make this easier. “I’m—I’m a good boy, Mr P. Figured that out all on my own. Like, like the good, clever boy I am.”

“God,” Mr P said. “Your mouth—”

Mr P’s face was flushed. His hands were fists by his sides, his trousers _tented_. A shock of heat bolted through Merlin’s body at that, leaving behind goose bumps. Hazy, Merlin thought, _he likes it_ , and then he was already saying, “Am I a good boy,” tugging harder on his cock, harder, faster.

“Merlin—”

“Mr P, tell me—tell me I’m—”

Between one blink and the next, Mr P was right in front of him, his palms against the door, one on either side of Merlin’s head. He didn’t touch, but he looked down Merlin’s body, at Merlin’s cock, long and curved, while looking crazed, _wrecked_ , himself, brows heavy, jaw clenched. He was breathing calmly, deeply. “Arthur,” he said roughly. “If you’re a good boy, you’ll call me Arthur.”

“Arthur. Arthur, yes, I—”

“My good boy is honest,” Arthur muttered. “Tells me what he wants. Are you my good boy, _Mer_ lin?”

Merlin’s hand was a blur on his dick; he was so wet his furious wanking produced squelching sounds. “Yes.” His next breath was replaced by a groan as the fantasy burst forth: “I want you—you fucking me, over your desk, where anyone could come in, and see—” He choked. “—see you fucking me, oh, God—”

He imagined it: Arthur’s broad body bent over his skinny, younger one, a thick cock in his arse, pounding forceful, fast, _good_ —and, God, yes, did he _need_ that—

Arthur, tilting his head, murmured, “Such a good boy.” The words were a hot exhalation against Merlin’s skin, pulling it taut with a delightful, slow ache; their physicality shocked Merlin into orgasm, and he stuttered, “oh, oh, _oh_ ,” when he came.

* * *

**#46**

**Pairing(s):** Annis/Gwen (past Arthur/Gwen, Annis/Caerleon)  
 **Warning(s):** Reference to canon character deaths, grief. Consent is less than enthusiastic.  
 **Tropes Smashed:** Age difference, knife/sword play, object insertion, shades of hurt/comfort and ritual

If ever there were a time to take Camelot, it would be now. Not with a secret foray to penetrate its borders (after Caerleon's brave, reckless fashion), no, but a massive, undefeatable force to descend on castle and queen. To engulf her, overwhelm her, make her kneel and choke and succumb. As, deep down, Guinevere must long to do.

Instead, Annis leads a visit of state. Perhaps she's getting soft in her old age, but while Arthur was king she began to believe they all might live in peace.

In the aftermath of all Camelot's chaos and death, the five kingdoms seem to hold their breath.

If ever there was a time to take a young ruler under her wing, it is now.

"Sir Leon's a fine lieutenant," she says, after the due honours have been paid, and the knights and servants have retired, leaving the two queens alone in the great hall. "Intelligent, loyal. You'll want to keep him close."

"I'm grateful to have him, still." Guinevere's voice is flat, her gaze empty.

Annis strokes her cheek and asks, "Have you taken pleasure since you lost him?"

"Have I –"

"You understand me, Highness."

"I love no one else."

Annis nods and turns to the wall, the display of a pair of crossed swords. She pulls the heavier one down. "This was his, yes? I believe I've seen it before…"

"Give it to me," Guinevere spits.

"Gladly." She hands it over at once, and then cups her own groin with a loose fist. "I only suggest that you make good use of it."

"That's ridiculous. It's obscene."

"Taking grain from peasants is obscene. So is commanding one human being to kill another. These are things we've learnt to do. Pleasuring yourself?" She shrugs. "It hurts no one."

Annis sits on the queen's throne and spreads her legs, opening a little space along the edge, just enough room for Guinevere's shapely arse. "You don't have to look at me," she says, "you don't have to like me. But come and sit with me for a while. Take some advice from an older sister who knows something about grief."

Guinevere says nothing, but after a moment she obeys, still gripping Arthur's sword.

"Did you ever sit with your king like this?"

She feels Guinevere's muscles flex between her thighs, her breath catch in her chest, and a whisper, "Yes."

"You'll never have him again, and no one like him," Annis says, caressing Guinevere's skin, then slowly gathering up the fine fabric of her gown. "There's no way around that emptiness, that ache. If you take a lover, you must have great care… even if you don't want his prick inside you. Any man who gets close to you will try to own you, because he wants to own Camelot. And you _must not_ let that happen."

"All the men I ever cared for are dead, or… lost to me. And I don't want a woman either."

Annis lets herself smile, recalling the pride of her own youth, the certainty. She wraps a hand around Guinevere's on the grip of the sword, and brings the pommel to press – gentle, firm – against the queen's warm, bared cunt.

"You took strength from him once, Guinevere. Take it again."

Guinevere shakes her head. The thick fall of her hair is more exquisite than Camelot's satin or Caerleon's fur against Annis's cheek. "Arthur's strength was never in his sword. It was in his heart."

"It was both." Annis's voice is sharp as her mind flashes on a few of the thousands of ways she's imagined her husband's death.

Guinevere gasps when Annis works two fingers between her folds. "Let it in, Highness," she says softly, and helps Guinevere open her legs wider, one knee bent up over the arm of the throne. Guinevere rocks the hilt up and down until the pommel slips inside her, and together they draw it in, slowly in, until one end of the gross-guard touches her clitoris, the other rests against her arsehole.

"I can't –"

"You can," says Annis. She presses the metal against Guinevere's nub and _holds_ , holds her fast until Guinevere breaks on a sob and falls limp in her arms.

When Guinevere's breath is steady again Annis carefully helps her to pull out the sword, to grip the wet hilt with both hands, to stand on her own feet. Guinevere's face is wrecked and gorgeous and hard.

"It is yours now," Annis promises. "All of it is only yours."

* * *

**#47**

Pairing(s): Merlin/Arthur  
Warning(s): watersports (that means a pee party)  
Tropes Smashed: okay so i sort of loosely interpreted biological imperative and delayed gratification as hey, lets write some kinky piss play \ ^_^ / so yeah...

  
Merlin slipped behind a column, biting his lip and reaching a hand down to squeeze his cock through his pants. He couldn't stop shifting around, constantly fearing that warm, golden liquid he had become so familiar with.

  
Arthur needed him to deliver an envelope to the Lord staying in the West wing, and he was late to pick it up. But as soon as Merlin walked into that room, Arthur was going to know.

  
He was going to know Merlin was getting desperate.

  
Merlin looked longingly down the hall in the direction of his rooms, and more importantly, his chamber pot.

  
However, taking a deep breath to steady himself, Merlin turned and made his way into the hall where Arthur had been conducting business all day. His quick pace alleviated some of the pressure, or possibly just took Merlin’s mind off of it. Whatever the case, Merlin was grateful for the respite; although he knew it wouldn't last.

  
He paused in front of the double doors, collecting himself and stilling his fidgeting body.

  
Opening the door, Merlin announced, “Excuse me, Sire, I’m here to pick up the missive for Lord Gregor.”

  
The room was surprisingly empty; the seats at the round table vacant save for Arthur, who was leafing through several documents.

  
“Rather late, aren't we Merlin?” Arthur inquired dryly, not looking up from his work.

  
Merlin shifted, he couldn't concentrate on their usual banter, all he could think about was his aching bladder, and how easy it would be for him to just let go right here, and the expression Arthur would wear if he did…

  
“Well, if you’ll just give me the letter, I’ll be as quick as I can. Sire.” Merlin said in his best impression of a polite tone. He didn't have time for a lecture, he was starting to sweat, the pressure mounting with every moment.

  
Shifting his hips didn't help anymore, there was no position or way to stand that reduced the pressure, Merlin was at his limits and he knew it.

  
Suddenly there were arms wrapping around him, and a warm body fitting along his back. Arthur always knew, Merlin thought as he leaned back, resting against him.

  
Maybe there was one position that helped.

  
Arthur murmured, “How long has it been?” his warm breath ghosting over the shell of Merlin’s ear.

  
“N- Nine hours,” Merlin breathed, tipping his head back onto Arthur’s shoulder. It was the longest he’d gone, considering the amount of water Arthur graciously gave him over breakfast.

  
One of Arthur’s hands snaked down Merlin’s waist to hover over his lower abdomen. Merlin tensed, and cried, “Arthur, no! Don’t-”

  
Ignoring his pleas, Arthur pressed down directly over Merlin’s full bladder, pressing, pressing- the pressure growing, and Merlin didn't know how long he was going to last, he could only gasp Arthur’s name, half sobbing, and writhe against him.

  
Arthur’s other arm reached down into Merlin’s pants, grabbing his cock and stroking him quickly into hardness. Merlin moaned, grasping the arm around his waist, which was now practically holding him up.

  
Arthur stroked his cock slowly, circling the head and teasing the slit. Merlin panted frantically, beyond aroused, but not sure if he needed to come or piss more. He widened his stance, letting Arthur slip a leg between his own to support him.

  
Merlin thrust into Arthur’s grip on his cock one moment, and strained backward the next, grinding back against the hard prick he could feel rubbing against his ass.

  
The dual urges warred in his mind, somehow his aching bladder just served to heighten his arousal, and make every stroke of Arthur’s hand against his cock feel magnified, his sensitivity heightened to an almost unbearable degree.

  
Arthur nosed along Merlin’s neck, placing open-mouthed kisses along the column of his throat. “Come for me, Merlin,” he whispered, voice pitched low and sensual.  
Merlin moaned brokenly as all his conflicting urges came to a head, and he honestly didn't know if he was going to cum or piss.

  
But with one final twist of Arthur’s wrist Merlin’s orgasm was ripped out of him, pleasure blasting through his whole body, Arthur pumping every drop of cum out of him.  
Immediately after Merlin was pissing on the floor of the great room, still moaning as he soaked his and Arthur’s legs.

  
Arthur was furiously grinding against Merlin’s ass, still holding Merlin’s cock but not making any move to direct the stream away from them. He came with a groan muffled against Merlin’s neck, and they both sank to the floor next to their mess.

* * *

**#48**

**Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** none  
 **Tropes Smashed:** Clothes Sharing, Possessiveness and Comeplay

***

Arthur does it unthinkingly.

“Here,” he says, tossing the coat at Merlin as he’s about to leave for the night. “I had a new one delivered this morning, you can keep this one.”

Merlin catches it and rubs the red fabric between his fingers.

“Thank you,” he says. “I’m always grateful for your castoffs,” he adds cheekily. Arthur rolls his eyes.

“Good night, Merlin.”

***

Arthur didn’t anticipate it would be a problem.

But Merlin looks so _good_ in the coat that so obviously belonged to Arthur. Well-worn as it is, it’s still far nicer than any of Merlin’s other clothes. It sits too big on his shoulders, and a little too short.

It makes Merlin look like Arthur’s, in a way that does unexpected and distressing things to Arthur’s heart.

And his cock.

***

“Just take it off,” Arthur eventually says. “The coat, I mean. You can’t possibly be cold,” he adds, when Merlin stares at him.

“You can’t tell me what to wear,” Merlin says, rolling his eyes. “Even if you gave me the clothes. I thought you’d grown out of your prattish ways, but apparently they’ve taken a new direction. Honestly, ordering - ”

He kisses Merlin just to make him stop talking, and because Merlin’s lips are red and plump. He doesn’t even think about it. Before he can panic, Merlin laughs into it, and then he’s in Arthur’s space, pressing close.

“You like me in your clothes,” he says. “I knew it. I’ve seen you watching me.” Arthur smoothes his hands up under Merlin’s shirt.

“I’d prefer you out of them altogether,” he says.

Merlin trips in his haste to get to the bed, stripping his clothes as he goes, and then there’s acres of pale skin for Arthur to stare at. Arthur licks his lips.

Merlin sits on the bed.

“Are you just going to look?” he asks. He moves further back, parting his legs ever so slightly. And then he gets this _look_ in his eyes.

He picks up the red coat from where he dropped it on the bed and slides it on.

“Better?” he asks and gods, it hits Arthur low in the gut, Pendragon red against Merlin’s skin.

Arthur steps closer, pulling off his shirt and kneeling over Merlin on the bed until Merlin’s back is flat on the bed and he’s gazing up at Arthur.

“You’re mine,” he says, and Merlin smiles.

“If you want,” he replies, something serious in his eyes.

Arthur kisses him, pressing him back against the bed, dropping his weight into the cradle of Merlin’s thighs, and it isn’t long before Merlin’s rubbing up against Arthur, rocking into his still-clothed hips.

“Off,” he says, when Arthur’s mouth moves to his neck, kissing the line exposed by the collar of the coat. “Take them off, I want - ”

He fumbles Arthur’s laces open and Arthur kicks them down, and then it’s Merlin’s hand around his cock, the touch enough to make Arthur groan.

“I just need - ” Merlin starts, and wriggles out from under Arthur so he can lean off the bed and produces a vial of oil. He takes Arthur’s hand in his, pouring some of the oil onto Arthur’s fingers. Arthur’s heart thumps.

Merlin lies back down, thighs parted, and guides Arthur’s fingers inside himself. Merlin is blood-hot and tight around him, and his thighs shake when Arthur thrusts his finger up just right.

Arthur could do this for hours, drinking in the noises Merlin makes, but before long, Merlin’s making impatient noises, and Arthur can’t deny him anything.

Merlin feels incredible around him, and there’s no chance Arthur will last as long as he’d like. He gets his hand on Merlin’s cock, jerking hard and fast until Merlin cries out, spilling over Arthur’s hand. It only takes a few more thrusts to follow, and he comes, forehead pressed to Merlin’s, breathing against his parted lips.

Merlin groans when Arthur slips out of him, and Arthur can’t help but part his thighs again, drawing his hand, still slick with Merlin’s come, down to touch at Merlin’s wet, used hole. He slips a finger in experimentally, and Merlin’s hips jerk up.

“Too much,” he groans. Arthur draws his finger out, spreading the mixture of their come down Merlin’s thighs. He likes the sight of himself on Merlin’s skin, the wet tracks evidence, like the coat, that Merlin belongs to him. He rubs it into Merlin’s skin a little and Merlin laughs shakily.

“You’ve made your point,” he says, and Arthur crawls up his body and kisses him, the rough texture of the coat strange against his overheated skin.

“I’m yours,” Merlin says, eyes crinkling at the corner. Arthur believes him.

* * *

**#49**

**Pairing(s):** Morgana/Morgause  
 **Warning(s):** none  
 **Tropes Smashed:** Ritual, incest, knife-play, object insertion

"You can't be serious." Morgana was incredulous. Morgause was truly being absurd.

"Sister, you must let me help you." Morgause was completely serious. Morgana had been unable to sleep from intense night sweats for the past couple of weeks and Morgause had proposed a ritual to rid her of her problem. The reason Morgana was in a state of disbelief wasn't the fact that Morgause had proposed a ritual, but what the ritual entailed.

"Do you want to rid yourself of this demon or not?" Morgause crossed her arms and looked pointedly at her sister.

"Well yes of course but what you are suggesting sounds so.....dirty!" Morgana huffed and felt a blush on her cheeks.

"It is a natural part of life my dear. You should not be ashamed." Morgause took Morgana's trembling hand and led her to the circle she had prepared in the center of the meadow. She guided Morgana to sit down. There was a chill in the air and the grass was wet with dew but Morgana sat in the middle of the circle made of smooth rocks from the bottom of the lake of Avalon.

"Release yourself to nature, Morgana. Take off your robes and lay down." Morgause began lighting the candles surrounding the circle and Morgana did as she was told. The grass tickled her bare skin and the dew did not help the chill, but Morgana decided that she was not entirely uncomfortable. She felt her nipples peak and her skin rise into gooseflesh but she did not mind. The gentle wind that began when Morgause was finished lighting the candles was not cold, but warm like an embrace.

"I ask you now, Three Goddesses, to assist me in releasing the energy that has grown inside of Morgana for many weeks." Morgause reached for a satchel of water.

"We must cleanse you, my dear." Morgause poured the water over Morgana's naked body. Morgana noticed that it was caressing her body in warmth and shivered from the unexpected pleasure it brought between her legs.

Morgause smiled gently, noticing Morgana's reaction to the water, and pulled out a bejeweled knife.

"Do not worry sister. I do not mean to harm you. The Three Goddesses only ask for a small sacrifice for their help." Morgause lightly ran the dagger over Morgana's neck down to her breast, making Morgana gasp. When Morgause reached her hip, she pressed the dagger against Morgana's skin, drawing small beads of blood. Morgause let the blood drip from the dagger onto the grass next to Morgana, where she noted it sank into the earth quickly.

"Now they will help us." Morgause smiled and pulled a polished knob of wood out of her cloak. It was long and thick and Morgana quivered, having no doubt of what was to come. She was ready, her cunt already slick and willing from the earlier ministrations.

Morgause pushed the knob inside of Morgana gently, letting her get used to the feel, before beginning to rock it in and out. Morgana writhed and keened and felt her body _glowing_. Morgause smiled and leaned down to place her lips on Morgana's, capturing her moans.

"Yes, my love, let the energy flow from you. Release it to the earth!"

Morgana felt the tendrils of magic flowing on her skin and lightly caressing her body and she was not sure if they were from her or Morgause, but she did care for it felt wonderful. She knew she was going to climax soon so she grasped onto Morgause's shoulder and bucked her hips into the air to get the wood to go deeper.

When she came, her eyes glowed a brilliant gold and the meadow filled with specks of light. She felt exhausted but smiled at her beautiful work. Morgause covered her with her robes that she had discarded earlier and kissed her forehead.

"Now you may finally sleep, my love."

* * *

**#50**

**Pairing(s):** Gwen/Morgana  
 **Warning(s):** None?  
 **Tropes Smashed: object insertion, forced proximity, and masturbation**

Morgana shifted restlessly in her bed. She sighed in annoyance as she looked across the dimly lit room at her sleeping dorm mate. She was always there when Morgana got out of her classes and it had been driving Morgana insane. She hadn't been able to fuck herself for a month, the entire time she'd been here and she was craving it. She needed to feel something longer and thicker than her own fingers to filling her up but Gwen was always in their dorm and she hadn't been able to find the privacy.

Fuck it, she thought as she threw the sheets off her and quietly walked over to her dresser. She opened it carefully and winced when the drawer squeaked. She looked back at Gwen's bed, hoping that the noise hadn't woken her up and smiled slightly when Gwen was still sleeping soundly. Thank god she's not a light sleeper, Morgana thought. She reached into the back of the drawer and pulled out the silk pouch that she'd hidden in the corner. Morgana promptly closed the drawer and walked back to her bed, fingers clenched tight around the pouch. She shivered in anticipation as she felt the ridges through the thin material.

She climbed into the bed and placed the sheets around her, in case Gwen did wake up. Morgana quickly slipped her panties off her hips and brought her knees up to get the sheet up and off her crotch. She opened the pouch and drew out her trusty ridged blue vibrator. Her breath hitched as she moved the vibrator down one thigh and let it slip between her lips she rubbed it back and forth for a few seconds spreading her wetness around.Then Morgana reached down with her other hand to rub at her clit as she pushed just the tip of the vibrator inside.

Morgana bit the inside of her cheek to keep in the moan as she slid the vibrator all the way in. She let it rest there for a minute as she played with her clit, letting herself clench around the vibrator and feeling the ridges. Morgana loved this, loved feeling full.

She slowly pulled the vibrator out and her feet pushed against the bed and her hips bucked up to meet the vibrator as she thrusted it back in. Morgana fucked herself on it quickly, her grip on the vibrator getting less secure as her wetness spread and her fingers slipped. She accidentally pushed one of the vibrators buttons and Morgana couldn't stop herself shouting a curse at the sudden stimulation.

The vibration was loud and she quickly turned the vibrator off. She nervously looked over at Gwen's bed hoping that she had managed to sleep through the noise. Gwen's eyes met her own and Morgana froze.

"I-- uh..." Morgana fumbled for the words that wouldn't make this even more awkward, but Gwen just smiled at Morgana and shook her head. "Oh," she said in surprise when she noticed that one of Gwen's hands was inside her pajama shorts and the other was up her shirt.

"Do you want some help with that?" Gwen asked so quietly Morgana thought she might have imagined it, but she nodded her head and Gwen pulled her hands out of her pajamas and walked over to Morgana.

"Oh, fuck," Morgana groaned out when Gwen lifted the sheet away and sat between her splayed leg.

"Is this okay?" Gwen asked softly as she tapped the base of the vibrator. Morgana moaned and nodded and then Gwen was fucking her in long slow strokes. Morgana reached down again to rub her clit and her hips shifted as she pushed down into Gwen's movements, trying to get her to fuck her faster. Gwen smiled at her and took the hint.

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck," Morgana cursed when Gwen suddenly turned the vibrator on and Morgana's orgasm crashed over her in waves.

Morgana opened her eyes when she finally came down from her high and Gwen was leaning over her. Morgana smiled and pulled her down for a kiss.

* * *

**#51**

**Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** Reference to minor character death, someone being tied up  
 **Tropes Smashed:** Beloved enemies, forced proximity.

It was a dark and fuzzy night, Merlin having snatched Arthur right out of his bed and not given him any time to put in his lenses. It was somewhere near the top of Arthur’s list of problems, right behind his lack of socks and subsequently cold feet, his full bladder, and being strung up like a juicy upside down salami in an abandoned hangar.

“You can’t treat me like this – I’m the crown prince. My father’s men will be looking for me as we speak, and they will show no mercy.”

Merlin tugged on his cape; it billowed dramatically behind him as he approached. To his credit, he didn’t trip over it this time. “Well, now, that’s just rude. All I’ve done is elevate you to your station, _your highness_.” He gestured upwards to where the rope dangled from the ceiling, and added, “Mwahaha.”

“What the hell was that?”

Merlin scowled, pursing his lips. “My evil laughter.”

“That was terrible – ”

“I’m still practising, shut up.”

“ – also not what I meant. Oh, there’s the cavalry – ”

“Rats!” said Merlin, and dissolved into a nest of rodents scurrying over the floor and diving into dark corners, their moustaches all the while twitching evilly.

*

“It’s _French_.”

“It is,” said Merlin admiringly. They were perched atop the Houses of Parliament. Arthur was starting to rethink the whole spandex costume thing – he was having a hard time breathing, and it was uncomfortably tight in certain places. Merlin’s mouth kept twitching as he eyed Arthur up and down.

“You’ve turned all the Union Flags into French flags?” Arthur said with horror.

“Nooooo,” said Merlin. “Just the ones in the United Kingdom.” He cackled. “Someone’s going to have a busy morning. Not that that’s any of your concern, oh, anonymous superhero.”

Arthur flushed, but the costume covered it up nicely, so there. “It just seemed like appropriate attire under the circumstances.”

“Wait, did someone forget to inform me we were shooting a porno again?”

“Oh, shut it.” Arthur sighed. “It doesn’t have to be like this, you know.”

Merlin’s shoulders slumped for a moment, and he smiled tiredly. “It does. Your father is responsible for my father’s death, I turn evil and hunt you for the rest of our lives in retribution. That’s how these stories go, Arthur, don’t you ever read?”

*

“It was an accident!” Merlin said for the sixth time.

“We’re stuck. _In a drain pipe_.” Arthur was awfully hot in his flimsy costume. Who knew it was so warm underground?

“Well, it’s not like I’m enjoying this, so a little less snottiness, and a little more help, please.”

“That’s not the impression I’m getting.” He needed some fresh air, that was all.

Merlin shifted awkwardly in the tight space. “Don’t take it personally.”

“Well, it’s personally poking me in the thigh.”

“… It’s a natural defence mechanism. It’s trying to stab you, see? Raaaargh!” Merlin said and proceeded to stab him.

Arthur rather thought he regretted it, judging by the choking sound that followed.

Presumably the biting was also part of Merlin’s attack on Arthur’s person, and if Arthur decided to rock his hips against the warm body pressed to his, it was only to get him off. Off him, to be clear. And if anyone thought he was lying, well, it was very dark in here, and no one could prove anything.

*

“This has gone too far, Merlin.” Arthur dripped quietly onto the rock. He’d rescued five people after his father strolled into the sea and the tide came in rather unexpectedly fast.

Merlin looked pale. He handed Arthur a towel. “I’m sorry. But your father betrayed mine, and now I’m all alone. I’ve got to repay him for that, don’t you see?” He was shaking.

Arthur put a gentle hand on his shoulder. “You know, you never told me what happened to your mother. How did you lose her?”

Merlin wiped at his eyes. “She’s in Ibiza. She likes it sunny.”

“You know, I remember you.” Arthur smiles. “Visiting Buckingham Palace.”

“You were extremely rude to me. I didn’t know that area was restricted.”

“There was a sign, Merlin. It was pretty big. And it didn’t stop you from returning, did it? I thought I had myself a little stalker.”

“ _Did not_. I just like the palace. National monument and all.”

“Then come visit it with me, sometime. We’ll switch around all the portraits. It’ll drive my father crazy.”

“You have no imagination,” said Merlin, but as it turned out, he did, and Uther was quite puzzled why the portraits ended up looking so scandalised.

* * *

**#52**

**Pairing(s):** Will/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** Dom/sub  
 **Tropes Smashed:** Masturbation, exhibitionism, mirrors

 _Oh,_ Will thought, as he stumbled into the bathroom to find Arthur with his hand fisted around his cock, stroking himself to hardness. _So that’s what those sounds were._

He crept backwards for a stealthy exit, but hit the door with his back instead. Startled by the sound of the door creaking shut, Arthur whipped around and spotted Will, and by all rights the story should’ve ended right there.

Only, Arthur didn’t stop. His hand kept sliding over his length, over and over, his teeth sunk into his bottom lip to keep himself quiet. His eyes were locked on Will’s the entire time.

I should go, Will thought. He stepped forward, pressed up against Arthur’s back, and replaced Arthur’s hand with his own.

“What are you doing?” Arthur gasped. He reached forward, braced himself on the edge of the sink.

“I’m helping you get off, you idiot. What the hell does it look like I’m doing?” Will huffed.

“But you don’t even like me!”

“I get the feeling you’re not my biggest fan, either, but you don’t seem to be complaining.”

Precome leaked out of the head of Arthur’s cock, proving Will’s point. Will spread it across Arthur’s length, teased it into his balls with a light, teasing touch that had Arthur fucking up into his hand desperately, his ass grinding back into Will’s clothed erection after every thrust.

“Look at yourself,” Will ordered, on a whim.

Arthur’s head dropped immediately, and fuck if it didn’t go to straight to Will’s cock how Arthur obeyed without a moment’s hesitation, even if he had gone about it the wrong way. He had the sudden urge to find out how far Arthur would let him take it.

“I meant in the mirror above the sink, dumbass,” Will said, scornfully.

Arthur’s fists clenched, and for a heartbeat Will was disappointed at the thought that he had pushed his luck already.

But then Arthur straightened and raised his head, tilting his chin up in almost cocky manner as he watched himself through the mirror.

It was an excellent attempt at bravado. Will might’ve believed it, too, if it weren’t for the beautiful blush coloring Arthur’s cheeks. Shame was such a good look on him. Will wanted to see more of it, and, well, if it took Arthur down a notch- showed him his place- all the better.

“Good boy,” Will praised, watching carefully for Arthur’s reaction.

Arthur closed his eyes, turned his face away as if to hide from the words.

Will pulled his hand off, ignoring the way Arthur whimpered at the loss, and moved it to the back of Arthur’s neck. He gently turned Arthur’s head towards the mirror again, holding it in place.

“Please,” Arthur whispered hoarsely. “Please, I need-”

“What?”

Arthur said nothing, simply giving Will a pleading look.

“I’ll take care of you,” Will promised. He trailed the tip of his index finger down Arthur’s spine, traced it over the curve of his ass until it rested firmly against his hole. “But first, you have to ask for it.”

Will watched a range of emotions flit over Arthur’s face- disbelief, outrage, humiliation, and finally, defeat.

There were tears in his eyes when he asked Will to fuck him, and they continued to flow while Will did just that, patiently pushing into Arthur until he was a broken mess beneath him.

“You’re mine now,” Will murmured into Arthur’s ear, as he shoved into Arthur with a particularly hard thrust, sliding in as far as he could go. “You’re my good boy.”

Arthur shuddered, his eyes shut tightly as he came with a cry, and Will thought it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

* * *

**#53**

**Pairing(s):** Morgana/Gwaine  
 **Warning(s):** Underage (16)  
 **Tropes Smashed:** Age Difference, Biological Imperative

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful girl.

Gwaine knew that was how all stories started, but he couldn't think of any other way to say it.

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful little girl who never wore dresses. She insisted on being shirtless when the boys were shirtless. She learned to pee like a boy because if standing was good enough for her brother, it would be good enough for her, too. She only danced to the sounds of classic rock, and on her sixth birthday, she ran around naked for the entire day because it was what she wanted (that, and her clothes kept disappearing).

Arthur, her brother, thought she was more trouble than she was worth, and as Arthur's friend, Gwaine was supposed to agree. But really, Gwaine didn't understand how Arthur could complain about having a little sister who was so cool.

“I mean, what's so bad about her?” Gwaine asked. They were fourteen, babysitting the six-year-old Morgana. Babysitting, as in letting her eat enough chocolate to kill a small animal and keeping her entertained with movies.

“She's an omega,” Arthur said simply.

“So?” Gwaine asked. “Omegas can't be cool?”

“She's not _cool,_ ” Arthur sneered. “She acts like an alpha. It's...not attractive.”

“I bet,” Gwaine said, smirking, “that you'll end up with the least omega-y omega on the face of the planet.”

Arthur scoffed. “Yes, and you'll end up with the _frilliest_ one.”

Two years later, Arthur met Merlin (the clumsiest and most fashion awkward omega of all time), and Gwaine was proven right. Gwaine was proven right again when Morgana grew up to be the most popular omega in her school, despite her love affair with jeans and boots and wifebeaters tanks.

Arthur, however, was wrong about Gwaine. He didn't end up with the frilliest omega. He didn't end up with one at all. By the time he was twenty-four, all of Gwaine's friends were mated and happy, and Gwaine was still alone. While most of the other people his age on the planet had found a mate, for some reason biology or destiny or whatever kept Gwaine from finding his.

Some days he was okay with it. Some days he wasn't.

It was his lack of mate (and family in general) that led him to spending Christmas at Pendragon Manor with Arthur's family every year. He spent the day helping Merlin and Arthur cook, spent dinner trying not to lock eyes with Arthur's terrifying father, and usually he spent half the night telling Morgana dirty stories on the living room couch, where he would later fall asleep.

But that year, Morgana had gone to bed early, claiming she was sick, so Gwaine stayed up by himself, fiddling around on his phone, before calling it a night and going to sleep. He had dreams that turned from Christmas lights to snow monsters to angels who smelled like heaven.

He woke up to someone straddling him.

The heavenly smell from his dream stayed as he blinked awake and realized that the smell was an omega, an omega _in heat,_ an omega named Morgana.

“ _Ana,_ ” he groaned, putting his hands on her hips to stop her from grinding on him.

Even in the dim lighting from the multi-color christmas tree, Gwaine could see that she was flushed and worked up. Her black hair was in messy waves, and the only thing she was wearing was a long-sleeved oxford pajama top, partly unbuttoned and falling off her shoulders. She was beautiful, but she was also sixteen and his best friend's sister.

But somewhere in Gwaine's mind, it all made sense. Omegas only went into heat after sixteen, and then only after they found their mate. Gwaine hadn't found a mate yet, not because of shitty luck, but because he'd already found his mate long before anyone else. He just hadn't known it yet.

In the morning, he sent Arthur a text that said,  
 _Morgana's with me. She went into heat. Thought it would be less awkward fucking at my place.  
Merry Christmas! Xoxoxo_

The next time he checked his phone, he had over 200 missed calls.

And he didn't care.

At all.

* * *

**#54**

**Pairing(s):** Gwen-centric  
 **Warning(s):** nothing but the tropes  
 **Tropes Smashed:** knifeplay, mirrors, exhibitionism (ish)

Gwen’s not afforded much privacy -- certainly not enough to be completely sure no one will walk through the doors -- but that’s all part of the game, really. There’s a hot swell of something in her belly when she thinks about it, about what anyone might see, might think, finding her like this; it’s not quite pleasure and not quite shame, and it twists uncomfortably when she meets her own gaze in Morgana’s mirror.

These aren’t her rooms. It’s not her bed that she’s spread out on, her knees nowhere near together enough to be ladylike. It _is_ her knife between her fingers, though: well-cared for, the small blade sharp as the day it was made. It’s a lady’s knife, delicate, with a filigreed handle, and it is her favorite. It looks well here, against her skin and Morgana’s bedding, and she draws the flat of it slow across her ribs until it rests beneath her left breast, watching it in the mirror, the small imperfections in the glass distorting the picture just enough to make her dizzy. Anticipation is buzzing down her spine, dancing out across her elbows and the soles of her feet, setting her naked body tingling. She presses a little harder as she draws the point of the knife expertly around and up her breastbone, biting her lip as she sees the scratch bloom up against the skin.

There’s a noise from the corridor, and Gwen doesn’t jump, the knife cradled steady in her hand. She squeezes her eyes shut for a moment, closes her teeth harder on her lip until the pressure is too much. The bedding beneath her is damp; her thighs are slick. She reaches for herself, opening her eyes again to watch -- one hand curving just around her inner thigh, as if for balance, while the other pressed the knife flat against her other leg. There are fading scratches here -- it’s safe, where no one will see and ask questions. She’s drawn maps to guide her own fingers in deep, fucking herself while the sting of the knife yanks the floor out from beneath her more effectively than any sorcerer.

She’s already close today, straining to hear any hint of movement at the latch, but the door stays shut and her knife moves slow, deliberate, scratching a careful row of lines up her thigh toward her cunt. Her hair sticks to her forehead in tendrils. She doesn’t have to look in the mirror to see the sweat beading along her nape and the creases of her body. She pushes further into her touch, into her knife: undone, unable to articulate how it feels, how nothing else has ever been able to match what this brings to her. There is pleasure, yes; a rich and plummy sort of feeling, filling her like a too-ripe fruit warmed in the sun, and the pain wraps thin and delicate around it, pulling her taut until her skin splits beneath it and she spills.

She’s gasping now, her arms trembling, and she leans back to spread her knees further, open herself wide so she can watch as she touches herself, fingers sliding in the slick and spreading it in desperate trails across the inside of her leg, the knife following eagerly behind. She flicks the blade -- not enough to draw blood, never quite that far -- and gasps at the sharp jab of it, slaps the flat of the blade against the spot before the giddy thrill fades. She feels debauched, indestructible, and when she comes it’s with her eyes fixed on the slackness of her face in the mirror, the way the shock ripples through her in a wave as she thrusts two fingers deep, the knife clenched in one sticky hand.

* * *

**#55**

**Pairing(s):** Arthur/Morgana  
 **Warning(s):** Incest, Underage relationship  
 **Tropes Smashed:** Incest, Beloved Enemies

“No one goes in there without my permission.” Arthur ordered Leon closing the door to the room behind him. He turned the lock, slipping the key onto a chain around his neck and tucking it under his shirt.

Leon nodded in acquiesce asking softly “Sire, what do you plan to do with her?”

Arthur dragged a hand through his hair “I don’t know yet.”

He was still dealing with the revelation that Morgana was his sister.

 

***

“Sssh” she whispered against his neck, her leg wrapped around his waist and her back pressed against the wall. Arthur bit back a groan, pressing his body tightly against hers listening as voices drew nearer to where they were partly hidden in the alcove off the ballroom. His hand was under her skirt and his fingers inside her. His back blocked her from view but it would be quickly be obvious to onlookers what they were doing.

It was a risk they had taken both having drunk too much and say too close. It was the first ball Uther had allowed them to attend.

Whoever it was walked right past the open door and Arthur breathed a sigh of relief against her neck.

Morgana laughed, rolling her hips against his hand encouraging him on.

He rubbed his thumb over her loving the way she soaked his hand and rutted against her “We should be more careful, you could get a reputation.”

She laughed pressing a kiss to his neck “I don’t care.”

 

***

“What’s wrong brother dear,” Morgana asked her voice mocking and bitter. She sat near the window, her hair in loose curls around her shoulders and the dress she wore new and unwrinkled. She looked weak, the spell Merlin had cast around the room had cut her off from her magic and Gaius had warned him this might be one of the results of that.

Merlin had magic, so did Morgana, and his father was dead. In the span of a week Arthur had become King and had captured the one person he cared for the most.

“Did you know?” he asked her staring out at the darkness of Camelot. The view was familiar, before Arthur had decided there needed to be distance between them he’d spent more time in Morgana’s rooms then his own.

He’d wanted to lessen the pain for them both.

“No,” she spat out anger returning to her eyes.

 

***

She was a warm weight on top of him, her head on his chest and her fingers trailing up and down his arms. He squeezed her closer closing his eyes and savoring the moment as long as it would last.

“We can ask him again.” Her voice was soft, pained.

“He won’t budge.” Arthur kept his eyes closed, his grip tightening.

“But why not, I am his ward. Why should we not marry?” she was as confused as he was about it. Arthur had expected it since the moment Morgana had come to live with them. Uther had pushed them together, insisting they get along.

“I imagine he has other plans for me,” Arthur twirled her hair between his fingers “at least you will give a choice, he promised.” Uther would arrange Arthur’s marriage to the highest bidder, Morgana at least would get to marry a man of her choosing.

 

***

“You didn’t kill him.” Arthur pointed out to her.

She just shrugged, turning away from him “I didn’t do anything to save him.”

“Why?” Arthur asked her softly and Morgana turned to him.

Her eyes still burned with rage but there was a sadness to them. “Because he would have had me killed,” Morgana walked towards him and out of the corner of his eye Arthur saw Leon tense, hand held loosely on the hilt of his sword.

Arthur kept his relaxed at his side “He wouldn’t have, not you.” And Arthur knew why now, why Uther had wanted to keep Morgana so close to them.

“He killed thousands others like me,” there was certainty in Morgana’s voice “I couldn’t just stand by and let him.”

She stood before him and Arthur searched her face, his hands where gently as he cupped her check “No, that’s not it. Not completely.”

She didn’t waiver, didn’t apologize, and just told him her voice firm “My choice was you.”

* * *

**#56**

**Pairing(s):** Merlin/Mordred  
 **Warning(s):** light sprinkling of incest  
 **Tropes Smashed:** Incest, ritual, forced proximity

Everyone had awaited his arrival like the welcome of a king.

The Druids were grouped at the entrance of their forest, dressed in the finest linens reserved for ceremony. He had stumbled towards your people, confused, mumbling about needing help, somewhere to hide, barely escaping.

You watched him behind your father, hiding, scared. The stories your father told you—of warriors saving their villages, maidens being rescued, and monsters defeated—were only stories. Their heroes weren’t real; they didn’t appear in your life like a god becoming flesh.

They weren’t sent to live with you and your father, the only two people who had space for another.

“You shall respect him,” your father had said, making _respect_ sound like _worship_ , “and you shall love him as your brother.”

As a child, it was easy to love him as a brother; to forget that he is _Emrys_ , the savior of your people. You shared a wall of the tent with him, facing each other at night and telling stories, planning your mischief for the next day.

As you age, it’s no longer so easy. To love him, yes. As a brother, no. You knew, from the day you became uncomfortable changing together, that things had changed. You were betrayed by your own self; against your wishes your eyes followed him, drinking in his body with an ever-parched throat. Now you cry, in anger, in shame, as your hand moves quickly up and down, up and down, behind a tree away from the others at night.

Sleeping next to him is now a terrible torture; nowhere to turn, nowhere to move. Even the tiniest shifts only make your elbows and knees touch more. You think he could accidentally brush against the pleasure you couldn’t diminish and you’d be found out, that’s how close you are.

How close you are to being found out.

There is only so much you can do before your passion devours you. You follow him around because being away is simply unbearable. Everything is _yes, Emrys_ ; _no, Emrys_ ; _whatever pleases you, Emrys_ , when you’d like nothing more than to be his yes, never no, the only thing that pleases your precious idol.

For he is an idol most certainly.

To be around him is a heady experience of its own; to be surrounded by such powerful magic is an alluring intoxication, a pleasurable asphyxiation. You feel it on your skin, and watching his eyes flash golden at even the smallest tricks flares an arousal so fierce you think you may implode at a mere glance.

The night before the dawn ceremony they send you to bathe him, prepare him for the ritual where he will be reborn as one of you. And yet, not one of you. For he is still _Emrys_ , after all. As you help him into the cool lake, though, you wish he were anything but one of you. For perhaps then you wouldn’t feel shame and desire, wanting and worship roiling inextricably in your belly. His nude body, so pale and lithe, amidst the dark waters of the lake and towering trees, makes him seem like a small child. Not fit for the destiny your people have been promised; too seemingly weak for the burden of a terrible fate.

But the magic that simmers beneath is enough to remind you he could break you, the buzzing getting louder as his cheeks redden, embarrassed to be naked in front of you. He wasn’t born a Druid, he doesn’t view nudity as naturally as you or everyone else. Well, except you. Because his nudity is unlike everyone else’s. No one else’s naked flesh makes your whole body burn, a tantalizing fire, the unfurling and raising beneath your clothes.

He is looking at you. You know it even as you focus on dragging the cloth along his arm, scraping away dirt that isn’t there. It’s too quiet and you drag the cloth up and then down, up and then down, your hand gripping it too tightly. But then he’s gripping you too tightly and the motion is repeated—up and down, up and down—and he is scraping away the shame that is inside, exposing the dirt you tried so hard to cover up. Now the dirt is everywhere and you are the one who needs washing, but he doesn’t use a cloth or help you. He leaves you behind in the lake, reminding you he is _Emrys_ and you are no one, not even a brother.

* * *

**#57**

**Pairing(s):** Arthur/Morgana  
 **Warning(s):** Incest, Unsafe Sex  
 **Tropes Smashed:** Incest and Anonymous Sex

The music was a subdued rumble in the closet, not even the viciously flashing lights that were rudely attempting to challenge the New York City skyline could penetrate the darkness. Morgana’s back hit the wall with a thud and whatever clothes were hanging up next to them tumbled to the floor in a messy heap at their feet. The guys’ hot hands slid over her hips to smooth up the fabric of her micro mini and she tried hard to stifle a laugh at the sensation of his mouth on her thigh, partially because it tickled but mostly because of the situation.

_“What do you mean you’ve never played Seven Minutes in Heaven? Not even once?”_

Of course she hadn’t. Uther’s only daughter, adopted or no, had never been allowed to frequent parties in her teen years unless they were debutante balls. She had to sneak out to find her fun and more often than not it usually wasn’t exactly the harmless kind. The first time she’d ever played Spin the Bottle was at 16 after escaping the cops at a human rights rally with some local college students and they’d used a celebratory bottle of Jack. She had lost her virginity that night

His hands reached her panties and Morgana sighed, happily buzzed. She’d downed the shot Morgause gave her before allowing herself to be led to the closet and after about 3 minutes of childish fumbling the guy they’d stuck her in here with was finally doing something interesting. He slid the lacy bit of cloth down and off, lifting one of her legs up onto his shoulder before pausing possibly for her to snap at him for his presumption but she never did. Instead she the laughter she had held back became a rich chuckle, her hands sliding through the thick silk of his hair.

The chuckle became a soft gasp as his longue unerringly found her clit and smoothly, wetly slid his tongue around it in careful circles. It was almost unnerving how intent he was in sucking and licking her open. Before long Morgana was a shuddering mess, nails digging into his shoulder like claws as her body burned and throbbed on his mouth. She was well on her way to a vicious, but strangely empty orgasm when he broke away from her with a gasp of his own and she was unable to stop herself from cursing him.

He stood with an infuriating laugh of his own before he lifted her. Pinned her to the wall to slide inside her one tight inch at a time. The thickness of him seemed to satisfy the ache she felt and after only a few slow, measured thrusts she was ready to scream at him for holding back.

She was forced to snarl at him, dig her nails deeper to make her point before he obliged and finally began to move, fast and hard. It tore these small, helpless noises from her that grew and grew into loud ragged screams as the pleasure grew and grew inside her until it had no place to escape but from her throat.

His body shook against her as he thrust, obviously holding back his own orgasm as she writhed on the blood hot hardness of his cock. Neither of them were aware of the closet door opening, the shocked gasp, until the bass roared over them like a wave perfectly timed with their rhythm. It wasn’t until she was on the knife's edge of orgasm that the gleam of flaxen blonde hair caught her eye but by then it was too late, she was already screaming her release.

“Arthur? _ARTHUR--_!”

There was only the slightest of pauses in his movements as she shivered and her body spasmed around him before he gave two more hard, deliberate thrusts and came.

* * *

**#58**

**Pairing(s):** Arthur/Morgana  
 **Warning(s):** Non-con  
 **Tropes Smashed:** Incest, beloved enemies, knife/sword play

 

They have always been well matched.

+

“Again, Arthur,” the swordmaster says.

Morgana raises her blade, taking up her starting position. Arthur checks his feet placement against hers before returning his eyes to his tutor, who looks annoyed, but continues to pretend Morgana isn’t there.

+

Arthur’s tourney record is perfect because no one counts a defeat if it’s delivered by a woman.

+

Morgana doesn’t hold it against Arthur. He’s the only one who will deign to spar with her, after all, and since he is the best of his men Morgana is content with their arrangement.

Sometimes, when she leaves the armoury after a bout, she can hear Leon come in to chastise Arthur for a brute.

It subdues him until the next time she pleads him out onto the yard, ‘ _just some light swordplay, Arthur, honest,_ ’ and promptly kicks him into the dust. Then he’s back on his feet, fire in his eyes and laughter ringing over the clash of their blades.

+

She wears borderline scandalous gowns to tease Arthur with her skin and enrage Uther with her bruising — a spectrum of purple and green, and all of it glorious.

+

He first betrays her when he fully adopts the mantle of manhood.

When ‘Prince’ becomes a solemn duty, when _man_ means keeping the company of other men and treating ladies as jewels to guard and protect, he leaves her behind, believing it’s for her own good, no matter her opinion.

No matter that he once trusted her when she insisted she could protect herself.

+

Arthur takes the throne because no one counts a birthright if the claim comes from a woman. Morgana is nothing, a witch in a hovel — solitary keeper of the knowledge that she is _better_ , she has always been better than all of them.

+

They fight again in a cave, in the dirt, silent but for the shriek of sliding blades until Morgana has him backed into a corner, her short sword at his throat.

“You know better,” she hisses, “than to hold back with me.”

“You still leave your left side open,” he says, closing his eyes at the feel of her blade riding his Adam’s apple.

“Some things never change,” she says, letting her hand drop from her grip. Her sword hovers under his jaw while her fingers light on his chest, fiddling with the ties of his tunic. He freezes under her touch. “Still sparring, are we?”

“You’re at a bit of an advantage,” he says, making her head tip back with laughter.

“I always was,” she says. “You never needed more than a flash of breast to stumble, Arthur.” She’s almost fond, brushing his fringe out of his eyes, leaning into him. “Do you remember those days?”

“You’re my sister,” he says stiffly, refusing to touch her, even to push her away.

“Don’t be so cold,” she says, passing the back of her hand across his groin. “There was a time you dreamed of this, I know.”

“Morgana,” he begs, recoiling into the smooth rock at his back when she sinks to her knees. Her sword follows him, making him choke on his protest as she pulls his cock from his trousers.

“So handsome, brother,” she purrs, dragging the soft head in the dip between her breasts until his body responds, helpless. “I once dreamed of this, too.”

She tucks him into her cheek, rolling him across her tongue. His reluctant hardness stiffens rapidly, making her hum. She can hear him gasping above her, fingers scrabbling into the wall, retreating with nowhere to go.

It’d ruin him to discover she’s given her mouth in trade before. It’d gouge his sense of duty to know she landed on her knees when Camelot tossed her out — but that’s not what this is about. Let him wonder where she learned how to swallow a man deep, to rub at his balls and press a finger just behind them, teasing pleasure pleasure pleasure with sweet lips and a devilish tongue.

Even the great King of Camelot will eventually whimper and spend with shaking legs.

Morgana rises to her feet like a queen, thumbing at the corner of her mouth. Arthur’s head is turned from her, his cheeks wet, blood dripping from the shallow cuts at his neck.

She catches his chin between her fingers and forces him to look at her before she spits his release in his face.

+

They have always been well matched, but between them, only Morgana never flinched from a killing blow.

* * *

**#59**

**Pairing(s):** Morgana/Morgause  
 **Warning(s):** Incest, implied dubcon  
 **Tropes Smashed:** Chastity belts, incest

 

Morgana’s cloak whispered over the damp grass as she approached the cave. Light emanated softly from within. One last glance over her shoulder, to be sure she wasn’t been followed, and she went inside.

Morgause was standing over the fire, her eyes glittering in the orange light. “Sister,” she said.

There was a silent question there; Morgana raised her chin, and answered. “Everything is going according to plan. Camelot will be ours by spring.”

Morgause at last raised her eyes from the fire. “You’ve done well. And have you been good?”

At first she hesitated, still shy, even after so much time. Then, slowly, Morgana lifted her skirts, bunching them about her waist. The bronze and polished leather of her belt glistened in the firelight.

“Good girl,” Morgause murmured, running her fingers over the cool metal. “Good girl.” The spells within it sparked at her touch, unbroken. Morgana could break them – Morgause had taught her how, in case the need ever arose – but she never would. She would never disobey her sister.

At Morgause’s whispered word, the spells broke like a waxen seal, and Morgana breathed as she felt the belt slacken, the lock within giving way. Morgause eased the belt down her legs, letting it dangle about her knees, and ran her fingers across the damp flesh of Morgana’s thighs. She trembled, her fingers shaking where they gripped her skirts, but she held still. “You’ve been very good, sister,” said Morgause, “and you shall be rewarded.” She touched Morgana lightly under the chin, angling her face up, up to the roof of the cave.

Morgana looked upwards, and breathed as the metal of the belt chinked below her. She’d been so anxious the first time, anxious at being with another woman – not any woman, but her _sister_. But Morgause had made her see that this was right and proper. They were sisters, joined in mind and soul; why shouldn’t they be joined in body?

Morgause began to slide the belt back up, and Morgana braced herself for what she knew was coming, then made herself relax. The metal that pressed against her was oiled and warm from Morgause’s fingers, but still cool next to the hot flesh of her cunt. Morgause’s fingers dipped between her legs, angling it; then she pulled the belt into place and let metal slide into Morgana under its own weight.

Morgana squeezed her eyes shut, but stayed silent; Morgause hadn’t told her to not be silent. She relished the first few moments, while the metal was cold, before her body warmed it. It was a solid pressure inside her, stretching her out perfectly, as perfectly as if Morgause had cast it using her cunt as a mould.

Her sister cinched the straps tight, pushing it even deeper inside of her, and she bit her lip to keep herself from whimpering. Morgause’s hands were on hers, urging her to drop her skirts. They fell to the ground, concealing the belt from view, but Morgana could still feel it. She could barely feel anything else, anything but for the ground beneath her feet and the metal betwixt her legs and Morgause’s fingers upon her face. “There, now,” said Morgause. “Isn’t it sweet?”

It was; but not so sweet as Morgause’s kiss, soft upon her lips.

“Will you sit with me, sister?” said Morgause. Morgana sat, the warming metal shifting inside of her, pressing against hot, dark places. She sat with Morgause beside the fire, and listened as Morgause talked, of their plans, of what she must do next; and as they talked, Morgause’s fingers trailed through Morgana’s hair, wrapping strands of it around and around her fingers; and as they talked, the metal seemed to grow hotter and hotter within her.

“I understand,” said Morgana. “I’ll see it done.”

“Good,” said Morgause. “Good.” Their business done, she pressed Morgana down upon the floor of the cave and began to work the straps loose, loose enough to get her hand inside. Her fingers clasped about the metal phallus. “My sweet sister,” she said as she began to work it in and out, her lips a scant inch from Morgana’s. “My sweet. Sing for me.”

Morgana felt herself clench about the metal; and she cried out.

* * *

**#60**

Pairing(s): Arthur/Mordred  
Warning(s): Prostitution  
Tropes Smashed: Age Difference, Chastity Device,

Mordred ran his fingers through his hair. His heart pounded. Oh god, why had he decided to do this?

It had been six months since Merlin had broke up with him, moved on to some hairy bloke named Gwaine. Six months without sex.

The idea had been Kara’s. Call some prostitute with a 1-800 number to come and fuck him for a few hours- and a few hundred dollars.

He couldn’t breath when there was a knock at the door. He should just tell the guy he had the wrong flat, the wrong number.

Instead he opened the door. A tall, muscular, blonde man was leaning against the door frame.

“Mordred?” He asked. Mordred nodded slowly, moving out of the way to let the man in. He was probably in his mid thirties, at least ten years older than 21 year old Mordred.

“I-I’m sorry, what was your name?” Mordred stuttered, watching the man make himself at home on the in the living room.

“I’m Arthur.”

“Hi.” Mordred said warily. “So-um…”

Arthur laughed. “This your first time, kid?”

Mordred blushed. “First time having sex with a stranger? Yes.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve had plenty of first timers.” Arthur hovered over Mordred, toying with the hem of the younger mans shirt. He tilted Mordred’s face up, leaning a bit to give him a kiss. Mordred leaned into the kiss; it had been far too long since his last one.

“Where’s the bedroom?” Arthur asked, his breath ghosting over Mordred’s jaw.

Mordred didn’t answer, instead tugging Arthur to the bed, the pair occasionally stumbling on their way there.

Arthur pushed Mordred down onto the bed, kissing and biting at whatever skin was free before pulling Mordred's shirt off.

Kissing his way down the naked chest, Arthur undid Mordred's belt before pulling off his own shirt. He slowly pulled down Mordred’s trousers and pants; Mordred feeling more and more exposed with every inch removed.

Before he could even think, Arthur had slipped a steel cock cage onto his half hard cock.

“What are you doing?” Mordred asked quietly, carefully studying his trapped cock.

Arthur chuckled softly. “It’s just for a bit of fun, keeps you from getting too hard or reaching an orgasm. If you don’t like it.” He reached down to take it off.

“No!” Mordred said sharply. “I like it.”

Arthur smiled. “Good. Now do you have lube?”

“In the drawer.” Mordred motioned with his head. Arthur reached across the boy and pulled the lube out, quickly lubing up his fingers before slowly inserting the first one into Mordred.

“Oh god!” Mordred shouted. Arthur took a quick look up to make sure he was ok before continuing, stretching and lubing up the hole before pulling out a condom.

“From here on out, I’m in charge, got it?” Arthur looked Mordred in the eye. “You don’t like anything, I go too far, tell me to stop and I’ll stop.” He waited for Mordred’s answer before roughly taking him, making Mordred scream in ecstasy

Merlin had always been too gentle with Mordred, as if he were made of glass. But Arthur…

It wasn’t long until the blond came, his mouth making a soft ‘O’ before pulling out, unlocking the cock cage and taking Mordred down to the root, licking, sucking, tugging. He rolled Mordred’s balls between his fingers. Just when Mordred though he was going to come, Arthur would pull back, waiting for a bit before teasing the boy again..

It felt like days, weeks even to Mordred, but by the time he finally came, he realized they had only been playing for a few hours, Arthur’s time was up.

Arthur disappeared into the bathroom, returning with a damp cloth and tossing it at Mordred before tugging on his clothes.

“I had fun tonight.” The man said, pulling his shirt of last. He pulled something out of the breast pocket, writing on the back and handing it to Mordred. “I never do this, but you’re cute. Maybe someday you’ll even be able to hold a conversation with me.” He waved. “I can see myself out.”

Mordred looked down at the paper Arthur had handed him. On one side, a business card, the number Mordred had called. On the other, Arthur had written what Mordred assumed was his private number, along with a little line of hearts.

* * *

**#61**

Pairing(s): Merlin/Arthur  
Warning(s): Possible underage, though age not specified.  
Tropes Smashed: Mirrors, Object Insertion, Masturbation, (with a side of Comeplay and maybe some Beloved Enemies.)

Seventeen years the magic mirror had lain hidden, languishing under a tapestry, caked with dust and frosted with cobwebs in a sunless chamber in the Queen’s Tower. When the last queen had died, beloved Ygraine, the grieving king had ordered her rooms sealed, the windows were barred, heavy drapes drawn, and three stout doors of strongest oak stood locked between her quarters and the rest of the castle. The king became bitter without his sweet wife to temper him, he was harsh with his subjects and made war on the neighbouring kingdom, with whom they had previously been good friends. It was said that the only time the king smiled was when he held his young son, he doted on the boy and would deny him nothing, but for the one thing little Arthur longed for most. He begged his father to be allowed to visit his mother’s chambers, to touch her trinkets and feel the silk of her dresses. To curl up in her bed. But the king wouldn’t have it and over time the prince learned to stop asking. He learned to discover his own way in.

Now, as I’m sure you know, a magic mirror in isolation is just a mirror. It must have a counterpart, a twin. And this particular mirror’s twin stood in the bedchamber of another young prince, across the mountains in the next kingdom. A prince who was currently making some discoveries of his own.

Merlin lay on a rug before the mirror, which hadn’t shown anything more than what was in front of it in years. He hooked his skinny thighs under his elbows and curved his neck up to peer at the reflection of his little pink hole, he’d just had three fingers in it, but it still looked tiny. Carefully he picked up the long, slender candle he’d rounded off with his knife and prodded it into his hole. The flesh dimpled, resisting for a moment before it gave and the muscle opened to swallow the bulbous end in a grasping, sucking movement. It dragged along his insides in a most pleasant way, and young Merlin grew bolder, plunging the device further and further in and setting up a good rhythm. So he was quite startled by catching sight of movement beyond the spectacle of his arsehole swallowing the candle, his first thought being that someone had entered his chamber, perhaps a servant, or his mother. Of course this could not be so, he’d bolted the door securely. In fact, as I’m sure you’ve guessed it was Prince Arthur, in far off Camelot, who had broken into his mother’s chamber and was busy exploring her possessions.

When he’d whipped back the tapestry hanging over the mirror his jaw had dropped and his heart had stuttered, because there, seeming not two feet from where he stood, was a red-faced, dark-haired contortionist, buggering himself studiously with a long candle, pale against the flushed ring of his arse.

Arthur fell to his knees in front of the mirror, he felt suddenly lightheaded, and rather heavy in the trouser, and was completely unable to tear his eyes away. So when his sudden movement alerted the boy to his presence their gazes met. They stared wide-eyed at each other for a moment.

Prince Merlin, perhaps high on the relief that it was not his mother who had found him, let his eyes drop first, licking his lips when he saw that the other boy was clutching desperately at his crotch. Slowly and deliberately he drew out the length of the candle, shiny with oil, and swiftly plunged it back in.

In Camelot, Arthur gulped, he could hear faintly through the mirror the slippery pulse of the candle as the boy pumped it steadily, and the soft pants of his exertion. Seeing that the boy was testing his nerve, Arthur carefully unlaced his breeches and slipped a hand around his cock, he frowned and met the boy’s eyes again as he pumped, both of them staring as they picked up pace and raced each other to completion. When Arthur came he sprayed the surface of the mirror, splashing over the image of the boy, who was removing the candle and stretching his limbs. Arthur reached out and dipped his fingers in his come, smearing it across the mirror, wishing he was smearing rosy lips.

Merlin smiled shyly and scooped up some of his own come, touching it to where Arthur’s fingers rested on the glass.

* * *

**#62**

**Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** Dub-Con (but not really)  
 **Tropes Smashed:** Forced Proximity and Power Imbalance

** Shut Up **

“Well, this is cozy.”

“Shut up, Merlin.”

Normally Merlin would have shaken those words off like he had a thousand times before, but this time? This time it was all Arthur’s fault.

“Excuse me, _sire_ , but it was your idea to hide in the cupboard.”

“I didn’t expect it to have a lock on it!” Arthur hissed.

“Yours does.”

“Shut up.”

Yes, Merlin was fed up. They’d been in this ridiculously small cupboard for an hour, and it was getting hot. And sticky. And gods almighty, that was Arthur’s arse pressed against his –

“Merlin.”

“Yes, sire?”

“I’m hoping for your sake that the piece of wood pressing against my backside is part of the cupboard?”

“…..No, sire.”

“Right.”

The last thing Merlin expected was for Arthur to manage to twist him around, pressing his chest to the cupboard wall while attaching himself to his back. Merlin was just opening his mouth to say something about abuse of servants when a hand found it’s way over his mouth. He made a disgruntled sound, biting at the fingers.

“What are you doing – “ Merlin managed to get out before the hand returned.

“I said.” Arthur growled, his tone immediately making Merlin pause. “Shut. Up.”

Merlin managed to do what he was told for a few minutes, perhaps, but his curiosity always won out in the end. He nipped Arthur’s fingers again, twisting his head away.

“I don’t know how to play this game, Arthur.” He frowned, unconsciously stiffening when he heard his prince click his tongue.

“Oh, Merlin. I told you to be quiet.”

The next thing Merlin knew, he was on his knees. That, of course, made him chuckle as he looked up at his master and friend.

“Walking on my knees? Bit late for that, isn’t it?”

“As long as it gets some respect into you, I don’t care about how late or early it is.” Arthur said, voice low and surprisingly sultry. Merlin blushed lightly at hearing it. “You couldn’t be quiet, correct?”

“That kind of depends – “

“ _Mer_ lin.”

A sigh. “No, sire.”

“So you will require a punishment.”

“A _punishment_ – “

“ _Merlin_.”

“Bloody princes.” Merlin grumbled. “Fine, yes, punish away. What is it this time – an extra hour in the stocks?”

The smirk that found it’s way across Arthur’s lips was alarming to say the least. “Open your mouth.”

Merlin’s eyes widened. “To do what?”

“You, naturally.” Arthur said, as if it was the simplest thing in the world, as if it was completely normal to be trying to get your servant’s jaw open while unlacing your breeches, why was he doing that anyway -

_Oh._

Merlin looked up at Arthur with nervous but curious eyes, slowly letting his mouth fall open.

“Good boy.”

Merlin’s eyes only widened as Arthur’s cock was pulled out, the head almost touching his forehead in a moment of such complete absurdity that he almost lost it again. He kept it in however, merely tilting his chin up and keeping his mouth open. It was a movement Arthur seemed to enjoy by the way his thumb swept across his bottom lip.

“Perfect.” Came a soft whisper from above. Then Merlin’s mouth was slowly filling up, his tongue pressed to the underside of Arthur’s cock as he opened his mouth wider to accommodate his prince.

While Merlin might not be the best at picking up certain cues, he knew what the tug to his hair meant. Do something.

He did so gladly. Merlin let his tongue roam the underside of Arthur’s cock, his lips pursing as he closed his mouth around the intrusion, letting him suckle softly like a newborn at it’s mother’s teat.

“Merlin…”

He renewed his sucking; bring his hands up to hold Arthur’s hips as he bobbed his head. Those hands were slapped away, however, forcing Merlin to keep an unsteady balance as Arthur thrust his hips forward, trying to take him further each time. Merlin became sloppier as he fought to bring Arthur to his release, flicking his tongue decadently. His hard work paid off eventually, with the evidence dripping down his chin.

~*~

“You know, if you wanted to spice things up you could have just asked.”

“Shut up, Merlin.”

* * *

**#63**

**Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** slight bdsm, infidelity, sexual torture?  
 **Tropes Smashed:** chastity devices, and power imbalance

The…exotic dancers had been impressive, to put it lightly. There wasn’t a person left who wasn’t shifting subtly in their seat, trying to ease the ache or shift away from the dampness.

But the one who had attracted the most attention was none other than King Arthur himself, with his obvious shifting and flinching, to the point where his sorcerer, Merlin, leaned over, with mirth in his eyes, and quietly asked, “Is everything alright, sire?”

Arthur’s glare could have melted glass, but Merlin remained wholly unaffected. Instead, he simply offered to help ready the king for bed once the night’s festivities were over and more than a few of the knights had been invited to warm the dancers’ beds.

“Really, Arthur, the merchant looked terrified. I bet he thought his dancers had offended you,” Merlin scolded, as he stripped the king down to just his trousers.

“ _You_ offend me,” Arthur sneered, his body still flushed from the feast’s performance.

“Yes, I’m sure I do,” Merlin replied distractedly, his attention more focused on unlacing Arthur’s trousers. He pulled the flaps apart and peered inside. “But what luck! I couldn’t have asked for a better means to see if the chastity spell worked or not.”

“It’s not as perfect as you hoped,” Arthur stated, more to burst Merlin’s bubble than anything else. “I still have some freedom to grow with interest.”

“How much interest?” Merlin backed away and began to shrug off his clothing. “Show me.”

Merlin’s buckle had barely finished clanking to the floor before Arthur was flinching in pain, magic flaring around his semi-erect cock and forcing it back down to a flaccid state.

Merlin barely gave it a passing glance. “Huh.” He walked over to the nightstand and retrieved a small vial of oil before turning around and settling back on the edge of the bed.

Arthur’s interest immediately piqued again and he immediately brought a hand down to squeeze himself back to softness before the magic could kick in. “Merlin, what are you…”

His question died on his lips as Merlin propped a leg up on the bed, opening himself up for His Majesty’s viewing pleasure.

A single finger slowly disappeared from view, and Arthur nearly leapt out of his skin at the sudden constriction of magic around his most sensitive body part.

“Maybe you should sit down,” Merlin suggested past his chuckles, his finger still working in and out in a steady motion.

Arthur dropped to his knees, gaze riveted as one finger became two.

“Merlin, take this off me. Take this thing off me right now,” he ordered through his clenched jaw, his hand fisted over his groin in a struggle to stop himself from swelling even the slightest.

“But sire,” Merlin objected, his eyes wide and innocent, “you were so eager for cage. You wanted to stay pure for the Lady Gui—”

“I was drunk and angry,” Arthur cut in, drawing in a deep breath as Merlin’s fingers slipped out to massage his sack. “Obviously not – not in a place to make good decisions.”

“Horny and desperate isn’t a good place to make decisions either,” Merlin pointed out, pulling out a phallic-shaped object from beneath Arthur’s pillow. “Pity, really,” he remarked as he examined the toy before reclining back and propping both legs up on the bed.

“Oh God,” Arthur groaned, red-faced and now using both hands to try and keep himself under control. “Merlin, don’t—”

It was the breathy moan that did Arthur in more than the sight of the dildo breaching his servant’s entrance. Pain wrecked through Arthur as his body fought tooth and nail to harden, to be capable of claiming what it considered his.

“Merlin— _please_ —”

A single word was hissed and throbbing desire was left to freely take over Arthur, allowing him to scramble to his feet and rip the dildo away. Pulling Merlin closer to the edge of the bed, he positioned himself and slid in with ease, a shout of relief heaving out of his chest. Desperate for proper relief from his hours long torture, Arthur rutted into Merlin like a dog in heat. A soft cry gave time to his thrusts, due to his muscles being too tense.

The grip he had on Merlin’s hips was sure to bruise, but Arthur couldn’t be worried about that. The only concerns flashing through his mind were bringing Merlin closer, shoving himself in deeper, going at it harder, harder, because he was so close, so close, almost, almost, yes, yes, yes yes yesyes _yes_

A white eternity later, he melted against Merlin, shivers of aftershocks preventing them from bonelessly relaxing together. Distantly, he registered viscous fluids smearing across his torso which each heaving breath they shared, but none of that was important.

What mattered was the way Merlin brought a trembling hand up to fist Arthur’s hair, to ensure his attention was captured when he muttered, “You’re mine.”

“Yes,” Arthur exhaled. “Yours.”

* * *

**#64**

**Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** Teenagers 16+ having sex,  
 **Tropes Smashed:** Beloved enemies, Forced proximity, Accidental stimulation. And I just gave away the plot.

"Fuck you," Merlin says, turning away from Arthur to scrub at a spot on the floor.

"Fuck you too," Arthur answers, voice tight. When Merlin looks up, Arthur is sullenly poking his sponge with his finger. Merlin glares.

Detention with Arthur was the worst, but then they had to scrub the locker room showers as well.

It was Arthur's fault. Merlin attacks a tile viciously with his scrub brush. Arthur was the one who pushed him in the hallway, and then Merlin purposefully knocked his books to the ground. But Arthur had been the one to shove him to the floor and try to sit on him. He hadn't succeeded, only because Merlin is stronger than he looks.

But they had succeed at getting themselves both into detention.

Merlin throws his brush in the bucket, water splashing everywhere. Oops.

A wet sponge hits the side of his face.

"Fucker." Merlin lunges for the bucket, but Arthur meets him halfway and the water ends up down Merlin's front and all over Arthur's left side.

Merlin glares so hard he's surprised Arthur isn't on fire.

"You started it," Arthur insists, and Merlin bares his teeth instead.

The door bangs open, startling them. They both spring apart as they recognize the sound of the varsity baseball team. Merlin looks around wildly for an escape, but Arthur grabs him by the bicep and hauls him into the open supply closet instead.

The air is hot and close in the closet, and Arthur is wet and soggy all up Merlin's front, but there's no telling what Coach Gauis would've done if he'd caught them soaking wet and fighting.

Merlin tries to take a step back and stops when he hits a mop. No need to knock that over. Arthur shuffles in front of him, but all he manages to do is rub their wet shirts together.

"This fucking sucks," Merlin whispers, and Arthur huffs in response, breath heated and moist against his neck.

Arthur's shorter than him, Merlin realizes. His eyes are just starting to adjust to the meager amount of light seeping in under the door, and he can see Arthur's face right in front of him.

Arthur starts squirming and Merlin grits his teeth. They are pressed way too close together, and the pull of the wet fabric of his shorts against his cock is starting to cause a situation.

"Stop moving." Arthur ignores him, trying to shift back, and then when that doesn't work trying to push Merlin away from him.

"Arthur!" Merlin grabs his hips and stills him. He hopes Arthur isn't paying too much attention, because his boner is pressed right up against Arthur's hip.

"Stop. Moving," he says between gritted teeth. "You're going to get us caught."

Arthur blinks at him in the darkness, glances down. Merlin's cheeks feel hot.

"Come on," Arthur says, and this time moves purposefully into Merlin. His hands grip Merlin's ass and Merlin can't help but whine as they push him forward, cock grinding against Arthur.

"You- Fuck." Merlin can't speak as pleasure settles low in his spine. And- yes, that is Arthur's cock rubbing against his thigh, his hips twitching and rolling into it.

"You know you want it," Arthur whispers against his cheek, digging his fingertips into Merlin's ass.

Merlin can't help it. He groans, thrusts three times into Arthur's hip, and comes, cock twitching in his shorts as he trembles against Arthur.

Arthur stills, supporting Merlin by the hips as Merlin blinks, knees weak.

The locker room sounds quiet now and Merlin tries the door.

He untangles himself from Arthur's grip, ignoring his protests, to check if the coast is clear.

The locker room's empty, so Merlin turns back to Arthur, who is pitching a very noticeable tent in his shorts.

Arthur glares.

"You wanna help me with this now that you got your rocks off?"

Merlin thinks about it, grins. He sprawls out on the floor and palms his dick through the fabric. He's still sensitive, but he won't be for long.

"No, but I'll be happy to watch."

The look that Arthur gives him could strip paint, but that doesn't stop Arthur from leaning back against the doorjamb and reaching into his shorts. He leers.

"Race ya."

* * *


	4. Group D (warnings)

**#65**  
Pairing(s): Arthur/the Emrys twins  
Warning(s): A very happy Arthur  
Tropes Smashed: Incest (as in twincest) and Mirror (above bed)

[](http://imgur.com/tYpt4J9)

* * *

**#66**  
 **Pairing(s):** Arthur/Morgana  
 **Warning(s):** Half-Sibling Incest, Knifeplay, BDSM  
 **Tropes Smashed:** Incest, Knifeplay, Chastity Device, Object Insertion, Delayed Gratification, Power Imbalance, Possessive Behaviour, Beloved Enemies, Hurt/Comfort

[](http://imgur.com/JjjAtIa)

* * *

**#67**  
Pairing(s): Gwaine/Morgana  
Warning(s): Cross-Dressing, D/s elements/overtones  
Tropes Smashed: Clothes sharing, Pornography.

[](http://imgur.com/gFiwZJ2)

* * *

**#68**  
 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** Butts butts butts (nsfw)  
 **Tropes Smashed:** Uniform kink + space

Honestly a little more _'Hello Sailor'_ and a little less 'Treasure Planet,' than intended. 

[](http://imgur.com/yvOi4Hh)

* * *

**#69**  
 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur and Percival/Gwaine  
 **Warning(s):** A bit of unintentional voyeurism  
 **Tropes Smashed:** Clothes-sharing for M/A, forced proximity and accidental stimulation for P/G

Percy and Gwaine are slacking off one night and have to quickly dive for cover when the prince and his manservant come slamming into the counsel chambers for round one. Trapped in the shadows, Percy and Gwaine are forced to listen to the whole thing from start to finish. 

[](http://imgur.com/nKvaRN1)

* * *

**#70**  
 **Pairing(s):** Morgana/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** Non-con/rape, incest, bondage, scratching, blood and blood play, knife play, ritual sex  
 **Tropes Smashed:** Incest, Beloved Enemies, Knife/Sword Play, Rituals

[](http://imgur.com/2skDjAj)

* * *

**#71**  
 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** None  
 **Tropes Smashed:** Object Insertion + Mirrors

[](http://imgur.com/m9eIY8p)

* * *

**#72**  
Pairing(s): Arthur/Merlin  
Warning(s): None  
Tropes Smashed: Masturbation, Exhibitionism, Anonymous Sex, Power Imbalance

Famed courtesan Emrys is called upon to perform for His Majesty’s pleasure.

[](http://imgur.com/CiiE4hx)

* * *


	5. Group A (clean)

**#1**

The sparkling water splashed across Arthur's shoulders and cascaded down his broad chest. His handsome face emerged from the waterfall. The camera made love to his manly jawline, his steely eyes, his blue lips...

“Cut!” Gwaine yelled. “Arthur, mate, you're supposed to look orgasmic, not close to croaking from hypothermia!”

“Fu-u-u-ck off! This blo-o-ody water is free-e-zing!”

“We did spend more time than expected, setting up the shoot,” Gwaine conceded. “Let's take a break, get you warmed up.”

Arthur struggled across the rocky riverbed and crawled from the water. “I ca-a-an't feel m-my feet!”

Merlin hurried to swathe him in a woollen blanket. 

Mithian pushed a steaming mug into Arthur's trembling hands. “You poor dear, suffering to help me and Elena launch our brand! You're our hero!”

Gwaine meanwhile studied the footage. “I'm sorry, man, but you look too focused and determined. This won't charm potential customers. You're supposed to demonstrate that the shower gel turns you on!”

“I can't look o-o-orgasmic while my p-privates are about to d-drop off from the cold!” Arthur's teeth were still chattering. “Try it yourself, you tosser!”

Gwaine flipped his glossy hair. “I _would_ do it myself, but I'm the poster boy for Pantreal's grooming products for men. They'd sack me and sue if I started promoting competing brands. I figured you'd be the next best thing. Good looks, the right body type.” 

Arthur rolled his eyes and finished his tea in grim silence.

Elena smiled at Gwaine. “Your confidence in our home-made organic products is so encouraging, sweetie.”

“Your products, my marketing skills, the sky's the limit, baby!” 

Arthur coughed. 

“Are you still too cold?” Merlin asked. He ducked into his boyfriend's arms, pulled their blanket cocoon closed, and wriggled against Arthur experimentally. 

“Things are far from normal,” he concluded. “Almost unresponsive. We need drastic measures!”

Arthur stepped back, spluttering. “You don't mean...?”

Merlin smiled angelically. He started rummaging through his backpack. “Must look orgasmic, they said.... ready to combust, even.... so I had the foresight to bring along _this_!” 

Triumphant, he held up a sturdy, bright-blue butt plug. 

Mithian and Elena shrieked. 

Gwaine raised an eyebrow. 

Arthur's eyes went wide.“Merlin! Put that away! 

“Not so fast. I can't put it where it belongs without lube. Fortunately, I've got some.”

Merlin started lubing up the plug. His expression was serene, but his eyes sparkled. 

Arthur groaned. “Merlin Emrys, you look so sweet and innocent, but you're a kinky, crazy, filthy _fiend_!”

“And that's why you can't get enough of me. All done!” Merlin stepped closer. “Your arse, if I may?”

Arthur looked into Merlin's eyes. Something very private passed between them. Trust acknowledged, challenge accepted, Arthur turned around to lean on the riverbank fence. He spread his legs.

Merlin at once disappeared under the blanket and went to work. His appreciative murmurs were muffled by the woollen cover.

“U-huh, that's it. Mmm-hmm, relax, good boy.” 

Suddenly he tore the blanket off and dropped it on the ground near Arthur's swimming trunks. “I can't _breathe_!” 

Arthur squirmed. Arse in the air, he was completely exposed. A new kind of shiver ran up his back. His firm buttocks clenched and unclenched. The partly-inserted plug was on full display between them. 

“You OK there?” 

Arthur widened his stance in response.

Merlin dropped to his knees and resumed coaxing the plug inwards. “Brilliant, there you go...“

“What if some little old lady comes walking by?” Elena whispered nervously.

“Sssshh,” Mithian hissed, riveted.

Arthur moaned.

“All set!” Merlin stood up, sweaty and grinning. 

Arthur laboriously pulled his swimming trunks back on before facing his friends. A rosy blush had spread across his skin. His eyes were glazed. The front of his trunks had filled out fit to bursting. He certainly did not look cold.

“Yes,” Elena chortled. “Merlin, you sex god! That's throes-of-passion perfection!”

“Well, hand him the gel. Let's start rolling.” Gwaine readied the camera. 

“Wait! There's one thing more!” Merlin rummaged in his backpack again. “The shoot will take some time, right? He'll have to keep at it? I think we'll also need... this.”

Arthur hid his face in his hands. 

The others laughed.

Merlin was brandishing a triple cock ring.

x – x – x 

The extended director's cut of their commercial went viral in no time.

Demand skyrocketed. Orgasmic shower gel was a huge success.

* * *

**#2**

She waited for her by the lake, far away from the prying eyes. When the girl was in sight, she closed her eyes, feeling the heat of the sun bear down on her and as though she couldn’t bear it any longer, she willed herself to faint, falling almost perfectly into the path of the girl’s horse.

When the girl jumped down and ran to her side, Sophia opened her eyes, glowing red and unblinking. “Túce hwón frec ðu, my love.”

Sophia stroked the Princess’s cheek. Her body was that of a human, a young woman now, but inside, buried deep somewhere was her little sister, cast out of Avalon imprisoned in an infant by the Elders. She knew she should take her to their father but she wasn’t ready to share her. _Not yet_.

She laid her down in the rushes by the waters edge, calling to Avalon to help her and to hide her sister. The Sídhe ignored the plight of two of its lost little girls.

***

She was Elena and she was _hers_. She was elegant and beautiful in a way only Sophia seemed to see but a bad fit for her sister. She tripped and fell, she knew nothing of magic. But she ran without a care, dove into dangerously deep lakes without a fear and kissed like she might never love again. Sophia traced the curves of Elena chest as it heaved, her sister’s true face showing itself. She wondered if this dawn would be the one that ruined everything. As soon as a prince of the realm came of age, she would have to take his life and Elena would have to give up hers to the creature buried under her breast. Sophia loved her sister, even though she only saw traces of her behind Elena’s sleeping features but along the way the balance had tipped, she found she loved Elena more. She _would not_ give her up.

***

Dragging Elena by the hand, they ran along the bridleways where Elena had been riding that day. Like fate repeating itself, Sophia placed her hand on Elena’s neck and guided her down into the rushes, this time with a kiss rather than a spell.

“We’ll be seen!” Elena shrieked as Sophia pulled off her sunshine yellow dress.

“And that bothers you?” Sophia asked, her fingers pinching into Elena’s hips

Elena grinned, a cheeky glint in her eyes, giggles rising. “Of course not, silly.”

Sophia rolled her eyes fondly and kissed her again. Nobody, not even her petulant nurse, would notice when Elena came back red faced and covered in mud, leaves in her hair and grass stains on her skirts. That was just Elena.

“We’re going to play a game,” Sophia informed her lightly even though her heart had never beat so furiously in her life. “You’re going to stay still for me and if you do,” Sophia leaned close to whispered, “We can fuck in the water.”

Elena nodded vigorously then stilled her head remembering she had to keep still. Elena would never know why she was truly drawn to the water like a kelpie. She would never truly know herself ever again. Sophia took out a little bag, the bell tassel jingling as she pulled it open and poured the contents over Elena’s bared skin. Wetting her fingers with the waters of Avalon, she drew words and shapes in the fairy dust and though Elena squirmed when she brushed over her nipples and her belly, she didn’t make a sound, not even when Sophia whispered foreign and forbidden words under her breath, marking her to all Sídhe eyes as _her human_ and burying her sister so deep that she could barely even touch her herself.

True to her word, when it was done, she swam into the lake with her love and pushing her back against the bank of the little island, she fucked her with the same fingers that had claimed her and that night she left her, breaking the same heart that had loved her. She would come back for her, she promised, when she bought her freedom with her human life.

***

“Well, did you find her?” Aulfric asked his daughter, having long listened to the rumours of the eccentric Princess of Gawant. “Is it her?”

“No, Father, merely a human,” Sophia lied without blinking. “A trifle odd perhaps but there is nothing special about her.”

“We’ll move on then,” Aulfric decided quickly. “I hear Camelot has a Prince.”

* * *

**#3**

Merlin had wondered where his purple jumper had gone. He supposed he should have known it had got left at Arthur’s. It was common enough that he find Arthur’s clothing among his things, so why not the other way round?

But for Arthur to wear it to Merlin’s class, taking his seat at the lab table with a smirk on his face, was something else entirely.

Arthur had, for once, arrived early. There were only about five other students in the room, giving them some privacy.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Merlin hissed in Arthur’s ear.

Arthur looked up at him innocently, but Merlin could see the light of mischief in his eyes. “Sorry?”

“You can’t wear my clothes to my class, I’ve _worn_ that here before!”

“God forbid someone think we buy from the same shops,” Arthur quipped, rolling his eyes.

“You’re going to stretch it with all your…” Merlin gestured to Arthur’s body, and that only made Arthur grin delightedly.

“My shoulders?”

“ _Yesem >.”_

Arthur glanced behind him. “Students coming in. Should probably head back up to the front.” He looked back to Merlin. “Quite excited for the lab by the way.”

Merlin sighed. “Just don’t get any chemicals on it.”

“Of course, sir, that’s why we wear lab coats.”

++

It was unsettling at first, a prickling knowledge in the back of Merlin’s mind as the class progress. But then, watching Arthur from the other side of the room, the prickling became more of a warmth.

 _Look at him_ , Merlin thought. _Wearing my shirt, walking around with my property on him. Thinks he’s clever. Thinks he’s entitled to it, like he’s—_

Merlin abruptly looked away and placed his palms on the table. Even so, he couldn’t help but finish his thought and feel the resulting hum of pleasure under his skin.

_Like he’s mine._

++

“Arthur.”

Arthur halted in the doorway and turned when Merlin called his name.

“Merlin.”

“Close the door.”

Arthur grinned. He closed the door behind him and locked it for good measure, then crossed the lab without Merlin having said a word. Merlin grabbed Arthur’s—his—shirt when he was within reach, desperately pulling him closer as he walked backward.

“In my office. Now.”

++

They hadn’t kissed long before Merlin dropped his pants, turned around to place his hands on the desk, and told Arthur to get on with it. Merlin felt the press of lubed fingers almost ridiculously quickly, as though Arthur had a small bottle of lube handy in his pocket.

Then there was the sound of a zip, a rustle of clothing, a rip of a condom wrapper, and finally Arthur’s cock was nudging its way inside.

Merlin reached back and clutched the denim of Arthur’s jeans, moaning as Arthur pushed deeper. No matter how many times they did this, it always felt as glorious as the first, Arthur sliding inside and fitting so perfectly. And Merlin always let out a small “ _Oh_ ” when Arthur was completely there.

Merlin usually moved first, rocking forward and back on Arthur’s cock to start up the rhythm. Then Arthur anchored his hands on Merlin’s waist and began to thrust forcefully in, each snap of his hips punctuated with gasps of breath.

When he sped up is when things got noisier—the slapping of thighs, Merlin’s keening moans, the knocking of the desk Merlin was bent over. Merlin loved doing it here best, and didn’t try to tell himself that it wasn’t because of the forbiddenness of it. The thought always got him so hard, his student pinning him down and having his way with him, Arthur’s cock pumping deep into him and hitting all the right nerves.

And of course there was the sliver of shame to go with it, making Merlin feel a bit dirty.

 _Professor Emrys likes to get fucked_ , his thoughts always taunted. _Yes, yes he really does._

“A-Arthur, touch me.”

Merlin was close, but he didn’t want his own hand bringing him off. He wanted Arthur’s, Arthur who came to his class wearing his shirt, Arthur who called him ‘sir’ in public but twisted his fingers in his hair behind closed doors.

Arthur’s fingers wrapped around Merlin’s cock and Merlin exhaled. “Oh, _fuck_ yes.”

Nearly there, so fucking close—

Merlin whined as he came, still clutching Arthur’s jeans. He sighed when Arthur inevitably pulled out, though under the disappointment that it was over was the pleasure of knowing it had happened at all.

Doing up his trousers, Merlin turned back to Arthur. As they kissed, he wondered if Arthur would want to go to dinner once the term was over.

* * *

**#4**

“I think we got a letter from your mum today,” says Elena as she pulls off her top.

“Blimey, really?” Will moans as he shuts the door behind them, shucking his trousers in the process.

“I think it's sweet how she pretends computers don't exist. Most days I wish my dad hadn't discovered Facebook.” Elena lets her skirt fall to the floor and flops down on the sofa.

“Yeah that's fine. But now I actually have to write her back.” Will throws his shirt onto the chair and falls back onto the couch with a huff.

Elena pets his hair with one hand and reaches for the TV controller. “Sexy Super Smash Brothers?”

“Sexy Super Smash Brothers,” Will nods.

There's some button pressing and some shifting to get into position, but eventually they sort themselves  
.  
“Come on mate, get it up! You still thinking about your mum?” Elena laughs as she strips off her pants.

“I can think of about eleven different uses for your mouth, all of which are better than what it's currently being utilized for,” Will grumbles, pumping his cock roughly.

“Ooh eleven, I think we're getting ahead of ourselves Will Neslor.”

“Yeah yeah, are we doing this or what? Timed battled?” Will grabs a controller and lies back on the sofa.

“Mmm, I feel like KO's tonight,”Elena bites her lip.

Will groans. “Noooooo, that's not fair, KO battles are for special occasions!”

Elena ignores his protests and mounts his hips. “Whoops too late I pressed start! Can you see okay?”

“Budge a bit to your left,” Will sits up and his eyes roll back a bit at the sudden friction. “Yeah that's fine.”

The announcer counts down in his booming voice and Elena takes the opportunity to give a few gentle rocks.

“How many lives do we have?” Will asks shakily.

“Seven,” Elena replies cheerfully.

“Oh god. I'm not going to make it.”

“But you have to,” Elena sing-songs.

The battle begins and Elena bobs up and down mercilessly.

“Easy Elly, give a bloke a chance. And I can't see the screen when you bounce like that.”

“Sorry, just wanted to get a brisk start.”

The battle progresses ruthlessly. They don't target each other, but they also don't shy away from the opportunity to chuck a capsule or two. All the while, Elena gyrates steadily; sometimes up and down, sometimes back and forth. When she gets a particularly exciting combo she clenches down around his cock. When she gets the smash hammer, she completely ignores the battle, opting to press the controller to her clit, letting the vibrations cascade through her. Her eyes flutter shut and her breath comes out in little pants, like she's surprised at the orgasm shaking through her core.

“Fuck Elly, you're so hot, when you do that,” Will leans forward and sucks a nipple into his mouth.

Elena's eyes fly open and she uses the last of her hammer power-up to smash Will off the screen.

“Oi!” Will's mouth drops open and Elena can't help but laugh at how betrayed he looks.

“Sorry stud, you know the rules.”

“I'll show you the rules. Stop dodging, that's cheating,” Will grumbles.

“No, cheating is doing this,” Elena stops bouncing and grinds her hips in slow, determined circles.

Will lets out a string of nonsense syllables but manages to stay focused on the screen. When he's got her down to her last life, Elena gives up the pretence of fighting fairly and rides him mercilessly.

“Fuck Elena, that's not, cheating, ughhh,” his grasp on the English language is lost as Elena bounces hard enough to leave bruises.

“I'm gonna, I'm gonna,” he moans gutturally, “I'm going to cheat just as bad as you you dirty charlatan.”

Elena shrieks as Will tips her backwards and presses her down into the sofa.

“I can't see!”

“I know.”

Fruitlessly, Elena presses buttons at random to fend off his attacks, but when her controller vibrates again, she knows it's over.

“Oh thank god,” is all Will can say before he doubles over and thrusts his tongue into Elena's mouth.

Elena answers with her own tongue, and wraps her legs around his hips, forcing him deeper. He comes in long, hot pulses, groaning with satisfaction. He pulls out slowly and plants a kiss on her forehead.

“To the victor go the spoils.”

“Oh please, I let you win.”

Will sits up, affronted. “ As if you could have stopped me.”

“You go on thinking that love. What shall we play next?”

* * *

**#5**

“My Arthur. You came, little prince.”

Merlin was leaning against an aged tree trunk with a coy smile. No matter how many times Arthur saw him, he would still look just as stunning. The features too sharp, flawless, and delicate and ears too pointed to be quite human, the milky, sinfully smooth skin of his bare torso that seemed to radiate the moonlight itself, and the breeches made of nothing but leaves that had wound themselves around him. 

Arthur still remembered how frightened he’d been as a child, the first time he’d seen one of the faerie folk enter the throne room for an audience with his father. Now, burning need was all that reared up in him whenever it sensed Merlin’s proximity. 

As soon as Arthur’s cloak dropped, Merlin’s face went ablaze with desire.

“You wore it,” Merlin’s words were half-growled, his eyes taking in the white and gold-stitched faerie tunic Arthur wore. 

“Like you told me to.”

Merlin blurred forward until Merlin’s inhuman heat was finally, blissfully burning him from the outside in.

“Good. You’ve been good.” 

Arthur trembling as Merlin’s marble lips brushed over the spot where his pulse raced.

“Now if any other faerie even comes near you…” Merlin’s hands tightened on bare skin after making quick work of Arthur’s pants “…they’ll know you’ve already been claimed. They’ll sense my magic on you, around you…” Arthur gasped, rising on his toes as two of Merlin’s fingers sank into him. “…in you. They’ll sense me leaking out of you, and they’ll know you’re mine, Arthur.”

Once clothes were gone, Merlin tumbled them into a patch of moss and flowers that seemed to embrace them. 

“Mine,” Merlin whispered again, just before Arthur quickly unraveled into a mewling, quivering mess when Merlin spread him wide and began to suck against his hole. Arthur never felt more filthy, nor such dire need as he arched up against Merlin’s mouth and Merlin hungrily responded, lapping at him with long, wide strokes of his tongue before licking deep into Arthur and then sealing his lips in a deep kiss to his hole to suck out the saliva. 

Moaning, Arthur’s legs fell open all the way and he buried one hand in Merlin’s hair. He would never get tired of the way Merlin pleasured him like Arthur was the finest banquet he’d ever tasted. 

With Merlin’s heat pushing Arthur’s legs up and wide apart, Merlin slid in until Arthur was moaning, then crying out as Merlin’s inhuman fire pierced him more deeply than anything else could, consuming as Arthur willingly, more than happily gave himself over to the blaze of indescribable pleasure that licked out to his fingers and his hair.

Merlin’s porcelain-smooth body melted into him as they moved together, Merlin’s hips snapping forward hard enough to make Arthur shout and beg for more each time. 

Then, with just a blink of his eyes, Merlin had them up on their knees while Merlin kept fucking from behind, Arthur’s hips and leaking cock bouncing roughly with the force of Merlin’s pace. Wisps of Merlin’s magic that poured uncontrollably from him crystallized in the air, until suddenly Arthur could see the two of them from any angle. Merlin’s lips sealed to his neck, and Arthur watched with helpless sounds as bright red marks bloomed along his throat, Merlin’s delicate hands roamed his chest, and Merlin’s thick cock somehow plunged and disappeared into his body again and again. 

“Mine,” Merlin breathed against teeth marks on Arthur’s neck beginning to bloom purple. Arthur could do nothing but whine and nod, watching as his body obeyed, his hole stretched enough to welcome all of Merlin, clenching around him each time he drew out, as if not wanting to let him go.

Arthur came with part of a sob, and he had to change their positions to work through his exquisite, painful sensitivity.

Merlin’s magic mirrors disintegrated, leaving only moonlight as Arthur slowly rode him, working his way down the pulsing length that both seared and soothed. He was getting sore, the sparks of friction painful, yet taking Merlin so incredibly deep each time he seated himself in Merlin’s lap made inferno that melted everything away – everything except where he and Merlin were one. 

Merlin tugged him closer while his release pumped into Arthur. Gasping for breath, Arthur came again in a rush, and Merlin kissed him through the sweet scorch. 

To soothe the cold emptiness after Merlin slowly slid out and his hot seed poured from Arthur, Merlin buried his head once again between Arthur’s trembling, wide-open legs. Arthur made broken noises when Merlin’s tongue stroked his stretched hole. Merlin soothed his lover’s burn with the last trickles of his own quickly chilling release. He combined both their seeds on his tongue, tenderly licking Arthur closed again and sealing their unity inside him.

* * *

**#6**

There was a time when Morgana would climb into her older sister’s bed because of a bad dream or simply just for the reason of being close to her. She was embarrassed to be experiencing such a thing at eighteen but Morgause had been away at college all semester and she missed her. It was what prompted her to go to her sister’s room that night.

“Having trouble sleeping?” Morgause asked with in a teasing voice on her face but despite having the blankets pushed back. It was an obvious invitation to come lay down with her.

She nodded and gladly accepted the invitation. “I missed you.”

“You must have missed me if you’re crawling into bed with me.”

Morgana chose not to answer that statement. “Goodnight, Morgause.”

“Do you remember the last time we slept in the same bed together?” Her tone didn’t contain a hint of teasing this time. It caught Morgana off guard and she laid there, unable to think of something to say. “Sister?”

She sighed and rolled over so her back was now facing Morgause. “Why do you have to bring it up, Morgause? We agreed that what happened last year was a mistake.”

“I’ll take that as a yes then.”

“Goodnight, Morgause.”

Morgause ignored her. “In your haste to not get caught for sneaking out after curfew you went to enter the house through your window but in your drunken state climbed through mine instead. You clung to me as soon as you spotted me and begged me not to tell mom. I agreed, of course, and you put your arms around me with the cutest flush staining your cheeks.”

Morgana closed her eyes. “I said stop it.”

“No,” she said. “You said I was the most amazing sister in the world and then kissed me. I didn’t respond because I was in a deep state of shock. It was only after you pulled away and started to run towards the door did I react.”

She said nothing.

“Do you remember what happened next?” she prompted and finally Morgana started to crack.

“I said I had been wanting to do that for ages and begged you not to hate me. You prompted me to lay down with you like old times which made my heart soar. I expected you to hate me.”

Morgause slipped a hand over her waist and which started to make its way upwards. She wanted to protest but found herself unable. All Morgana could focus on the fingers gently tugging and rolling her nipples. “I touched you just like this and you cried out so loudly that I was sure you’d wake up mom.”

“I didn’t though,” Morgana whispered. She suddenly brought her hand up to her mouth when the touches became firmer.

“Only because I had to silence you with a kiss,” Morgause chuckled. “Will I have to do that again now?”

The harder her sister tugged on her nipples the harder she bit down on her hand. She wanted to tell her to stop but said nothing of the sort. Morgana kept silently encouraging her with her muffled moans and squirming body.

“What happened next?” Morgause whispered in her ear before gently sucking on the lobe and gently worrying it between her teeth.

Morgana moved her hand and sucked in a breath. “You pushed me onto my back and-”

She was stopped in mid-sentence when Morgause shoved the blankets off her and rolled her onto her back. A pair of slender hands quickly and effortlessly pulled off the clothes on her bottom half in one go. It was an admirable feat.

“Was it something like this?” Morgause murmured in a gentle, yet teasing voice.

Morgana wanted to answer but shoved her hand back in her mouth as Morgause spread her legs. It was a smart move because the second her sister’s soft tongue touched her dripping folds, Morgana cried out.

“Why Morgause?” Morgana whispered as she was slowly coaxed to orgasm.

Morgause pulled away a fraction and gently pinched Morgana’s clit which caused her to whimper. “Because if I had to ignore what happened for a moment longer I would go crazy. I don’t care about the fact that we’re sisters. I want you and you want me and it’s all that matters. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

She smiled. “Then come for me, lovely sister of mine.”

Morgana did as she told and came with a cry.

* * *

**#7**

“On the rug,” Arthur ordered calmly. 

Merlin hesitated. It wasn't that he didn't _want_ this, but taking orders from Arthur to polish his armour and fetch him a snack from the kitchens was different. This was intimate. There was no going back from this. 

It started with a comment about the dagger Arthur had gotten Morgana and an innocent question asking after why the knights snickered about polishing their swords. Then Arthur had to go and notice how uncomfortable Merlin got when Arthur stepped out of the bath. Merlin's eyes lingered a little too long at the water dripping down the prince's naked body. 

Now, here Merlin was, totally exposed. He had never been nude before anyone else like this. His heart was racing and his palms were sweating, but a heat was pooling in his groin having Arthur's eyes focused on him. A surge of power rushed through him when he saw that Arthur was straining against his own breeches. 

“Don't cover yourself up,” Arthur said. “Let me see you. For someone outside as much as you, your skin is still so soft and fair.”

Merlin flushed at the compliment. 

“Lie back on the rug and spread your legs for me.” 

Merlin moved without thinking, the commanding tone of Arthur's voice made him ignore that he was in the prince's chambers, sprawling out on a rug finer and worth more than his mother's home in Ealdor. 

“Wider, Merlin. Let me see everything.” 

Merlin slowly complied, Arthur's soft gasp urging him on. Then Arthur pressed a vial of oil in his hands.

“Fingers first,” Arthur ordered. 

Merlin fumbled with the bottle but managed to pour some on his fingers. He had touched himself there before, in private, but he had never been bold enough to push a finger all the way in. With Arthur watching him, expression eager, Merlin ignored his own racing pulse. He didn't want to disappoint Arthur. 

After he got over the oddness of the sensation, it started to feel good. Very good. 

“Slide it in and out,” Arthur said softly. “Use more oil and add a second.”

Merlin hesitated.

“You don't know how tempting you look. Touching yourself that way. Your hole is so greedy. You want it don't you? You want more?”

Merlin groaned and pushed in a second finger. 

Both men were panting audibly as Merlin started rocking against his hand, opening himself up. The room was growing warm, Merlin's back was sticking to the heavy rug. 

“Are you ready for it?” Arthur's voice sounded steadier than he looked. 

Merlin bit his lip and nodded. Arthur handed him the sheathed dagger. 

“Get it nice and slick.” 

Merlin's hands shook so much that Arthur had to help him. Then Arthur sat back on his heels, his eyes glazed over with lust. The hilt of the dagger was cool against Merlin's skin. He traced it around the rim of his hole, wondering how it could possibly fit inside him. 

“That's it, darling,” Arthur choked out. “Push it in, yes, just like that.” 

Merlin pushed the handle in slowly. 

“It feels good, doesn't it? Feels good to have something that big filling you up.”

Merlin couldn't answer, at least not in words. The cool metal inside him was pushing against him in a place he didn't know existed, but the sensation was so much that tears started prickling at his eyes. 

“Pull it out. Not all the way. Yes, like that. Push it back in harder. It'll feel good. I promise.” 

Arthur coaxed him through it. Murmuring bits of praise as his eyes raked over Merlin's body. 

Merlin felt like he was on fire. His skin was flushed from being so exposed, from being so maddeningly aroused. It was more than he had ever felt.

“Next time I'll run the tip of the blade down your body, slide it down your chest. Next time it'll be my prick inside you. Now that I know you can take it.” 

With Arthur's words there was a final rush of heat, and Merlin couldn't hold back if he wanted to. His back arched as he came hard, pulsing all over his abdomen. 

His eyes had closed involuntarily, but he felt Arthur's presence beside him, steadying his hand as he pulled the dagger out. 

“I'll take such good care of you, Merlin” Arthur murmured against his skin.

* * *

**#8**

Morgana's not sure she's supposed to enjoy the ritual this much.

She's lying, fully naked, on a stone altar. Her arms and legs are splayed wide, bound to the stone with rope so tightly that she can barely move. A strip of fabric from one of Morgause's tunics serves as a crude blindfold. She wants to attribute her racing heartbeat to the fact that she's utterly exposed and defenceless, but suspects it has more to do with how, robbed of sight and movement, her other senses are going wild. The sound of the woods is almost muted over the blood rushing in her ears, but her body is attuned to Morgause. She can only focus on the soft pad of bare feet against the forest ground as her sister moves around the altar, lighting candles and etching runes into the dirt. With every inhale, Morgana can smell Morgause's scent on the rough cloth, sending a pulse of heat and dizzying excitement between her spread legs.

"Everything is in place, sister." Morgause's voice sounds darker than usual.

Morgana just breathes, relishing in the pull of the ropes against her skin. "I'm ready."

The lightest brush of hair against her cheek is the only warning Morgana gets before she feels a warm, slender finger on her lips.

"Open."

The taste of skin and sweat and dirt instantly flood her mouth. She barely waits for Morgause's command before she sucks on the finger, tracing the whorls of her sister's fingerprint. A whine rises in her throat when Morgause removes her finger, but Morgana cuts it off before it can fully escape.

"Good girl." The words are a hot puff of air against Morgana's ear, and she shivers. The first touch of Morgause's cool, wet finger on her forehead sends a wave of goosebumps across her skin, but she forces herself to stay still as Morgause uses the saliva to draw the rune. It wouldn't do to mess this up.

The moment the rune is drawn, Morgause draws back completely. "Spátl, heorudrync, nnolsæd. Borgfæstaþ ond áfæstnaþ." The words ring dark and commanding in Morgana's ears, rough with power and promise. The last word is accompanied by the touch of a hand. Morgana inhales sharply at the feel of cold steel against her skin, the edge of Morgause's knife. The moment's pause feels like it lasts forever, but finally she feels the sharp, sweet give of her flesh beneath the edge. The knife makes three small cuts on one arm before doing the same on her other. The constant, murmured chant of words makes the sting of pain easier to deal with. Morgana's not sure if it's the way the pain dulls into hot pleasure or the low buzz of power she can feel dancing across her skin, but she's getting slicker every minute. Not being able to squeeze her legs together to ease the pressure is driving her mad.

The chanting stops for a moment, broken only by a dark chuckle. "Easy, sister. Almost, sweet, I promise." For a moment, there's only the sound of fabric rustling, and then Morgana feels the the hot, heavy press of a body atop her navel. The sound must have been Morgause removing her own clothes, for Morgana can only feel skin and the scratch of pubic hair where her sister is now straddling her. "Six more," Morgause murmurs, and sucks a kiss into Morgana's hipbone.

The feel of wet lips and curled hair on her sensitive body makes Morgana moan, aching for some form of release. The three slashes on each side of her inner thighs only seems to heighten her arousal. The chanting begins again as three fingers reach between Morgana's legs, playing with the wetness before slipping in. It's torture, not being able to move into the press of her sister's hand as Morgause fucks into her at an almost brutal pace, and Morgana can feel where the rope has broken the skin of her wrists and ankles. "Please." The word, breathy and high-pitched, slips before she can control it, but it has its intended effect. Morgause takes pity on her and removes her fingers, replacing them with the hilt of the knife. It's blunt and broad and fills her cunt so wonderfully, and it only takes a half a dozen thrusts before she's coming all over the blade and Morgause's hand.

Over the aftershocks, she only just registers Morgause's fingers, slick and sticky with Morgana's juices, tracing one last rune onto her stomach.

* * *

**#9**

They had known something could go wrong during this visit; a far-away kingdom that wanted diplomatic relations with Camelot. That’s why they had made the switch. Morgana had sensed a magical element to the danger that awaited them, and Merlin was of course much better equipped to deal with those. 

Merlin had posed as King Arthur and everything had run smoothly. Arthur was sure Merlin was enjoying himself, bossing Arthur around. Arthur had been enjoying himself too, a little bit too much. He couldn’t help it. Merlin ordering him to polish armour and saddle his horse – it was strangely erotic.

From Merlin’s quick, evil smiles and casual touches, Arthur knew Merlin was aware of the effect his new persona was having on Arthur. 

He’d been a fool to think this could be just fun and games. Arthur started to regret allowing Merlin to walk straight into the line of fire. Now Merlin was missing and he was running around dressed in servant clothes. He’d never fully appreciated being able to wear armour and carry around a sword. 

Though there were advantages to being a servant. Shoulders hunched and gaze averted, he posed as a local stable boy, while looking for his horse. He found her but just as he wanted to reach for the lock a pair of arms pulled him back and a hand covered his mouth to muffle his scream.

"We need to be quick. Saddle horse and we're off," a voice whispered in his ear. Merlin! Arthur’s heart skipped a beat. 

He quickly did as he was told, grabbing the saddle and tightening the straps. Merlin had his back turned to him. If anyone would approach them, boy or soldier, they wouldn't know what hit them.

Merlin was still wearing Arthur’s red shirt, the one Gwen had taken in so it would fit Merlin, his chainmail and armour. He looked like a king. 

Merlin climbed behind Arthur on the horse. "Ride out. Head straight for the gates," Merlin commanded. 

"We’ll be seen!" Arthur protested, turning around to meet Merlin's gaze.

"No we won't." Merlin's eyes were molten. 

They weren't seen or stopped, though they passed a dozen of armed men. Instead they rushed out of the gates towards freedom.

"What happened?" Arthur asked when they'd reached shelter. 

Merlin smiled. His eyes still hadn't changed back. He looked giddy and hysterical. Magic was a third presence in the space around them.

"He has a sorcerer. We duelled. He was more powerful than I expected."

Arthur shook his head. "I should never have allowed you to take my place. It's far too dangerous."

"But it worked," Merlin giggled, "I won."

Arthur stared at his manservant. Something was off. It reminded him of that time he'd found some of his knights behaving oddly. Mushrooms, Leon had explained, they were high. Merlin was high now. High on magic. Eyes still glowing.

"You really need to fuck me right now." Merlin said matter-of-factly. 

"What?" 

"Yes. Arthur Pendragon. I command you to suck my cock and then fuck me senseless. Tonight I'm the bloody king of Camelot and I have too much magic in my system. It needs to get out." With that he was drawn into a kiss.

Before Arthur had time to respond, Merlin was palming his cock through the flimsy breeches that were part of Merlin's servant clothes. "Hmm. So hard already."

"You look so fucking hot in my armour." Arthur muttered.

"Good. You can start by getting me out of it."

Arthur took Merlin's place as a servant again, ridding him of shoulder pieces and chainmail. He managed to be just as clumsy as Merlin tended to be, in his rush to get him naked. 

Merlin's cock was already leaking. "Please, please, please." Merlin cried when Arthur sucked in the tip. 

It didn't take long before Merlin came. Arthur could swear the whole room lit up with Merlin's magic. 

"Get inside of me," Merlin ordered, still sounding as desperate as before. 

Arthur eagerly complied. He easily slid inside. It was Merlin’s magic acting unusual that had made him slick and stretched. Fucking him with abandon, Merlin came soon after, Arthur fucking him through his orgasm. And the next. And the next. Every time he came, Merlin’s eyes returned a little closer to their normal blue colour. When Arthur finally came himself, the eyes looking up at him were familiar and smiling. 

"We're not doing that again." Arthur said, after he’d pulled out of Merlin, feeling drained. 

"Oh, yes we are."

* * *

**#10**

Another slash of Arthur's sword brought down two more bandits, but it was no use: they were outnumbered. The clamor of steel against steel rang all around them as yet another wave of outlaws descended into the ravine, seemingly out of nowhere. Merlin saw five heavily armed men crowd immediately around Arthur while two others slipped behind him, unnoticed.

“Arthur!” Merlin cried, sending an involuntary burst of magic in the direction of Arthur’s assailants. Almost at the same moment, Merlin felt a large, heavy blow on the side of his head, strong enough to knock him over. 

And then everything went black.

***

“The Lady Morgana sends ‘er regards.”

Merlin woke to the feeling of something cold and heavy weighing down his wrists: shackles. Immediately, Merlin tried to magic them off. Nothing happened.

“Lady Morgana ‘ad those made special,” a large man said, leering. “Said they’d keep _you_ out o’ trouble.”

Merlin stared at his captor with growing concern as the man grabbed him roughly by the arm and hauled him to his feet before steering him towards a black covered wagon. Another man pulled aside the tarp that hid the wagon’s cargo from view to reveal a small cage with a person already inside.

“Get in,” said the second man, shoving Merlin’s shoulder. Before he could try, the first man picked him up and stuffed him inside. His friend locked the cage and dropped the tarp, and the world plunged into semidarkness.

“Get _off_ me!” came a voice from below him. Merlin knew that voice.

“Arthur?!” Merlin said in disbelief.

“Are you deaf, Merlin? Get _off!_ ”

It was then that Merlin realized he was sprawled on top of Arthur with his head pressed in between Arthur’s legs. To Merlin’s credit, he did try to move, but with fettered hands, a raging blush, and little to no space, repositioning seemed like an impossible task. Eventually, Arthur gave an exasperated sigh.

“Bloody hell,” Arthur said, flipping them over with his apparently unshackled hands. He positioned himself above Merlin with knees on either side of his waist and _man alive_ , Merlin thought. This arrangement was really not much better. 

It was going to be a long journey.

***

The “most comfortable” position, Merlin found, did not mean the most comfortable position for _him_. They shifted every once in a while, but usually, at least one of Merlin’s limbs ended up falling asleep, and at least one of Arthur’s ended up against Merlin’s crotch. This was exceedingly problematic, as his constant proximity to Arthur was not conducive to a well-behaved cock. He was sure that Arthur must have felt his erection at least once, but Arthur didn’t say anything, and so neither did Merlin. 

***

“Um, Arthur?” Merlin asked after finally switching positions.

“What now?”

“Are you….” Merlin trailed off and shifted slightly against Arthur, feeling something hard poking his back. “Is that…?”

Arthur scoffed. “No,” he said, and then added, defeatedly, “Yes. But you’re one to talk. You’ve been sporting one this whole time.”

Merlin made an embarrassing noise that he promptly pretended he hadn’t made. He could feel Arthur’s breath on his ear, feel Arthur’s reciprocated interest pressing against him. Merlin shifted again, almost involuntarily, and—

“Damn you,” Arthur said, and for the second time that day, he moved on top of Merlin. “You’ve been driving me _mad_ ever since we got in here.”

“But you didn’t _say_ anything,” Merlin groaned, hips jolting upward to meet Arthur’s. The king immediately reached down to press a hand against Merlin’s erection, rubbing him through the cloth. “I’ve been sitting here— _God, yes_ — for _hours_ , and you never—”

Arthur slipped his hand into Merlin’s trousers, effectively cutting him off. “ _Damn it, Merlin,_ he said, panting. “What was I supposed to say? ‘Oh, we’ve been captured, but in the meantime, would you like to get off with me in a wooden cage?’”

Merlin didn’t have the words to formulate a reply, so instead he focused on the feeling of Arthur’s hand on his cock and the sound of his breath and the smell of him, distinct and familiar. He was close to losing it, almost embarrassingly close, and so was Arthur. When they came, Merlin decided that it had been well worth the wait.

***

Eventually, the knights found them.

“Took you long enough,” Arthur grunted as someone broke the lock on their cage.

Gwaine raised an eyebrow. “Has it been that horrible?”

“Well,” Arthur conceded, glancing at Merlin, “not all of it.”

* * *

**#11**

Wrong. Merlin's all wrong. Everything is wrong. _Wrong wrong wrong._

Still doesn't stop him from _fucking nesting_ only bare metres away from Arthur's dorm bed, rolling around in Arthur's manky, sweatysmelly _awesome_ alpha-pheromoned fucking t-shirt, as if he could rub the scent right into himself, until there is so much acrid, tangy _alpha_ in the room everything will just implode upon itself.

Alphas don't do this. Don't want this.

And neither does Merlin.

**

He still doesn't want it as he eyes Arthur's cricket bat and just– _thinks things_. Things that he doesn't want.

'S curiosity.

And this, of course, is how he finds himself – and it is _finding_ , because none of this is his fault really, not when every single bleeding day Merlin is engulfed by all of this, practically inhaling Arthur with every breath, and there is _nowhere else to go_ to get away from it – stretched out across his bed, with a cricket bat handle shoved as deep within his arse as he can get it, watching some fucking porn clip where this alpha is getting _reamed_ by another, all dirty, squelching sounds and harsh moans, as the top manages to shove his knot in there, and, oh _shit_ , it must be so fucking tight like that. _Fuck_.

Angling the handle until it's grinding against his prostate, Merlin furiously strokes himself, whimpering with need as Arthur gets all mixed up in there in his brain – Arthur's giant knot dragging across his prostate with every stroke, Arthur reaching around and gripping Merlin's knot so _fucking hard_ , the way only large, rough alpha hands can, twisting and squeezing so tightly Merlin would see the whole fucking galaxy behind his eyelids. And then– _then_ , Merlin could slam Arthur onto his front and shove his cock in and Arthur would be able to just fucking take it, to give back as good as he could get, and his arse would feel so fucking perfect around Merlin's knot. _So perfect_ –

Merlin comes with a manic yell all over Arthur's stolen shirt.

(And doesn't imagine rubbing his come all over Arthur's broad chest, marking him, claiming him in a way that coming all over his shirt cannot satisfy.)

**

When Arthur finally stumbles back after another day of boarding school drudgery, he simply flushes at the heady, pervasive, stifling air in the room and immediately flings himself into bed, burrowing under the blankets.

**

The first time he'd met Arthur, it'd been a _fight_.

Ragged snarls and biting sarcasm echoing around the room, they'd bared their teeth at each other, bodies thrumming with vicious, tightly-wound energy.

Merlin's never wanked to anything more.

Since then it's been smooth sailing. A little too smooth, actually.

Sometimes, when Arthur doesn't notice him looking, Merlin catches a flash of something in his eyes, an eerily familiar flush, and glances at places _that don't need glancing_ and set a rabbit-beat in Merlin's heart.

**

The next day everything goes to hell.

It starts normally enough, with Merlin chasing Mordred off from where he's fucking with Arthur's stuff – no one fucks with Arthur's stuff except Merlin, okay. Just– no one gets to touch Arthur's things, or Arthur in general, or anything.

_No one_.

Arthur is his to fuck with, and his alone, even if that makes him _really fucking weird_. That's just the way it is.

But then an omega gets loose on campus, god knows how, and all the alphas _lose their shit_. And the pheromones and the _hyper-masculinity_ of it all – it goes straight to Merlin's brain, until he's certain that he's going into _heat_ and he will actually fucking die if he doesn't come.

It's all an accident, a confluence of events that once set in motion cannot be stopped, but it still doesn't change the fact that Arthur comes back to find him humping _Arthur's bed_ and practically crying with frustration, no longer caring what Arthur thinks, what _anyone_ thinks, he just _needs_.

Dimly, in the back of his mind, Merlin is terrified, but Arthur looks just as wrecked and out of control as Merlin feels and then he reaches down and _fucking squeezes_ Merlin's knot so tightly it's as if all the air has been sucked out of the room and compressed around his _dick_.

It's too much and everything Merlin's ever wanted and he can't fucking breathe and when he finally starts to come he _screams_ and it doesn't stop, going on and on and on.

**

Later, Merlin smiles.

Arthur's all wrong too.

* * *

**#12**

Wednesday night: 

“Can I touch you?” Mordred whispered, his breath hot and sultry by Arthur’s ear, his hand cupping Arthur’s hardening cock through his trousers. 

Arthur swallowed, “ Yes...Yes.” He really shouldn’t, not here, not with him, but… the guilt he felt was washed away by the wave of pleasure when Mordred eased his dick out and took him in hand. “Oh… yes!” 

Arthur gripped at the back of the garden bench and gasped. Just next to them, on the other side of the tall hedge, he could hear people talking and walking by, but he didn’t give a fuck at the moment. Everything was focussed on how good it felt, how Mordred was kneading and thumbing him, sparking feelings through his groin, creating a tightening sensation upwards through to his stomach, until, all too soon, Mordred gave a particularly strong tug and Arthur came with a weak grunt. 

Arthur came back to himself with a sickening jolt. What had he done? He was the one in charge, the mentor, he should have known better; and in the University gardens, of all places, where people could have walked in on them at any time. Urgh. 

Mordred was wiping off the cum and tucking Arthur’s dick back into his pants. Arthur’s face was hot with shame. He had no one to blame but himself. He buried his face in his hands. 

"That was so good, Mister Pendragon, Professor, " Mordred murmured, trying to kiss him. "I've never done it in the open before." Arthur let him, wrong as it felt. After the handjob, what was a kiss? 

Arthur was thankful that it was too dark to see much. He muttered about needing to rush home, stuffed his shirt back into his trousers, grimacing at the wet patch of cum on it. 

They walked to school building in silence. Mordred was beaming widely. Arthur schooled his face into a mask, and headed stiffly for his car. 

****

Thursday night: 

M: We had fun, didn't we? Wanna hang out this Saturday? 

A: We did. But, Mordred, I need to tell you, I can't do that again with you. 

M: Why not?! :( 

A: It's not right, I told you before, I don't sleep with students. 

M: Come on, it's not child abuse, we're consenting adults. 

A: I'm old fashioned, okay? 

M: More like a sucker for keeping stupid rules. Stupid. 

M: It's not like we're the only ones fucking, you know that Elena is seeing Mr Gwaine. 

A: Look, I'm not judging, I'm just saying I don't think it's right for me. 

M: :( 

M: Don't you like me? 

A: I do, but I just can't, not while you're still my student. I could get fired. 

M: :( 

M: Are you going to say you don't want to see me anymore? 

A: No, I do. I just don't want to sleep with you till you graduate. 

A: Is that too much to ask? 

M: But... It's my birthday on Saturday :( I thought we would have a great night together. 

M: I can't change what I want. 

A: No to Saturday. 

M: Sigh:( 

A: Stop it with the sad smileys.

M:...

M: :D 

A:???

M: I just wanted to say something positive 

A: Er. Ok. 

M: Yeah. See you around then. 

****

Monday morning: 

Arthur watched Mordred sling an arm around another student- what was his name? Merlin?- and walk together, their bodies touching from shoulder to torso to thigh. 

"Professor!" Mordred greeted him as they came closer.

Arthur swallowed and willed himself to talk, " Mordred. Did you have a nice weekend?" 

"Oh I certainly did!" Mordred smiled. "It was great." 

Arthur felt a sick lurching in his stomach, and visions of Mordred having birthday sex with someone else assailed him. He wanted to say he'd take it all back, please, please don't go to someone else instead of him, Arthur was sorry. He wanted to say he’d do anything. 

Instead, Arthur said, "I'm glad to hear that," and walked right on. He cursed his old fashioned ideals, his stupid beliefs, cursed the day he'd agreed to take a walk with Mordred, cursed his hopes that he would finally have a meaningful friendship with someone that would grow into something beautiful.

Behind Arthur, the two students watched him. Merlin abruptly removed Mordred’s arm from his shoulder. “What was that about?” he asked. 

Mordred shrugged and strolled away, “Just reminding our professor about something he missed out.” 

Merlin’s gaze followed Arthur all the way across the courtyard. He didn’t know what Arthur saw in Mordred, but maybe, just maybe one day, he’d be the one to catch Arthur’s eye.

* * *

**#13**

"Where the fuck is Pendragon?" Isolde mutters after yet another glance at the clock. "I'm starting to think he's not going to show up."

"He will." Tristan's voice in her ear is as soothing as it always is. "He took the bait. You got him _very_ interested."

She glances at the portrait behind the desk where she knows he's got a camera set up. There's one in the mirror opposite, too, and knowing Tristan, probably a few somewhere on the ceiling. 

"Jealous?"

"No," Tristan says, too quickly.

"So you won't mind if I have to resort to... alternative measures to close the deal."

"You've done it before," Tristan says. "If it doesn't bother you, it doesn't bother me."

Isolde just leans against the desk, smirking. 

When Uther finally arrives, she's pulled herself up to sit beside the cheque, shirt unbuttoned halfway down, legs spread as far as her pencil skirt will allow.

"You're late," she says, voice low, and Uther slowly drags his gaze up to her face.

"I was checking your credentials," he says. "I had to be sure I was making a good investment."

"And are you?"

Uther puts his briefcase down by the desk, straightening up slowly in front of her.

"I could stand a little more convincing," he says, and Isolde hides her smile when that makes Tristan growl. 

*

The first surprising thing is when Uther skims his hands up her thighs and tugs her knickers down over her - literally killer - heels, he stays on his knees. 

The second surprising thing is the noise Tristan makes when Uther buries his face in her cunt. 

"Yeah?" she breathes, quiet enough that Uther won't hear. 

"Yeah," Tristan says, just as quietly. 

Isolde arches up to better angle herself in front of the mirror, in front of Tristan, but all that really accomplishes is her hips rocking against Uther's face in a way that makes her shudder and him groan and her shudder all over again. She throws her head back, knowing Tristan will see, and lets herself moan a little more than is strictly natural. 

"Was that really necessary?" Tristan demands and Isolde groans out, " _Yes_ ," not even bothering to hide it, this time. The thing is, Uther is _good_ , nosing at her folds and licking in agonisingly steady strokes, but it's not just his clever tongue leaving her weak and tingling. Tristan's breath is coming in sharp, uneven bursts in her ear, and it's like he's right there with her as someone else fucks her senseless. 

Uther looks up, smiling so broad Isolde can see it, and with one final suck at her clit, pulls away. Isolde moans, her legs shaking at the loss, and Uther stands to fit their mouths together, the taste of her still raw in his mouth. He's got her crowded against the desk, his dick pressing hard against her through his trousers, and she takes a few deep breaths to recover herself. 

"Not convinced, then?" she says, remembering the cheque still sitting beside her, crumpled slightly under her palm. 

"Not quite," Uther murmurs, "though you do make a good case."

"I suppose I'll have to drive it home some other way," Isolde says, holding Uther's gaze as she goes for his belt and starts to undo it. 

"That was terrible," Tristan tells her, "absolutely god-fucking-awful, I can't _believe_ -"

He breaks off with a wounded noise when she slips down from the desk and turns to press back against Uther. 

"Are these terms more appealing?" she asks, flicking her gaze towards the other camera. She guides Uther's cock to her dripping cunt and grinds onto him, slowly, smirking when Uther moans in one ear and Tristan curses in the other. 

"I think," Uther says, thrusting forward, "we will definitely," another thrust, "come," and again, "to an agreement."

He grips her hips hard enough to leave bruises, and Isolde nearly loses herself thinking about Tristan finding them later and pressing his fingers into them. She meets Uther on every thrust, until his once perfect rhythm stutters and he groans out the fake name she had given him. 

"The cheque?" Isolde says, when Uther's sagged back against the desk. 

"You are truly a remarkable woman," he says, chuckling, but he takes the pen she holds out. "I look forward to working with you again soon."

"Not if I have anything to do with it," Tristan mutters, and Isolde just laughs.

* * *

**#14**

Arthur’s complaining before he opens his eyes. About the repugnance of the sun, Merlin’s stomp-happy entrance, the flimsiness of the curtains, Merlin’s loud, grotesque _breathing_. That’s as far as he makes it down the list before he’s sitting up, fighting with heavy eyelids so his insults might be more accurate. He blinks stupidly, gawping as his manservant moves about. “Merlin, what _are_ you wearing?”

He’s dressed… wrong. His shirt is beige, and there’s no neckerchief. He’s probably been ensorcelled. Which would be just like Merlin, to waste Arthur’s entire day because he’s too much of a wee-brain to notice when a sorcerer comes calling.

Merlin’s brow furrows, like he doesn’t even notice anything _off_. Dollop head. He glances down, like the dunce he is. “It’s a shirt,” he says slowly, likely because he’s confused by it. Then his expression goes a bit sly. “You’re wearing one, too.” He pretends to marvel over it. “Magnificent, isn’t it?”

Arthur’s not sure why Merlin’s being so purposefully dense about this. He uses the same (he now realizes _mocking_ ) slow tone with Merlin. “It’s not red. Or blue. Therefore it can’t be yours.”

The tips of Merlin’s ears flush a dark shade of red.

“You’re blushing,” Arthur says, dumbfounded. Realizing that can only mean: “It _isn’t_ your shirt.”

Merlin hunches his shoulders, murmurs under his breath, “Is there anything else you require, sire?”

Arthur glares at the shirt. It’s almost familiar somehow, loose around Merlin’s neck so it shows off his clavicle and a hare too long on the arms. It tugs at his memory but he can’t drag it out. He motions to the hangings, says, “The curtains, if you please, Merlin. They’re a state.”

Merlin sighs, stumbles over his own feet to Arthur’s side. Arthur waits until he’s distracted, picks up the candle burning low on his night table and lights the sleeve of the beige monstrosity on fire in a fit of pique.

Merlin yelps, puts the flame out with the heavy curtain and blinks wide eyes at him. “That was intentional,” he accuses.

That was insanity, is what that was, but who was Merlin to stomp into his chambers, with his loud and grotesque breathing, in another man’s shirt? It was… unseemly. Arthur sniffs. “Why would I sully another man’s shirt? Stop talking nonsense, Merlin.”

+

Arthur glances at Merlin from under his fringe as his goblet’s refilled. He’s in a foul mood but not for any reason Arthur can suss out. He seems to be over having not-his-shirt ruined, thankfully. Having his manservant furious with him is much more trouble than it’s worth. Arthur takes a deep swallow and his eyes flit to the floor as he lowers his cup.

“Those aren’t your boots,” he says, stymied.

Merlin looks down too. He frowns, as though he’s only just noticed, and flexes his toes. “One of them is,” he points out happily.

“Dressing in the dark, Merlin?” Arthur asks tightly.

That infuriating flush is back. Arthur knocks his wine onto Merlin’s boots.

+

Over the next two weeks, Merlin shows up with a belt Arthur’s never seen before. (Arthur _inadvertently_ catches his knife in it and rends it in two.) A leather cuff around his wrist. (Arthur asks to see it and _accidentally_ drops it in the lake.) Purple socks that Arthur knows Merlin would never own. (He _mistakenly_ uses them to stoke the fire.) 

It’s really no one’s fault but Merlin’s and this man’s. If he wanted to keep his wardrobe, he wouldn’t be giving half of it away. Arthur can hardly be held responsible for what disasters befall a klutz like Merlin.

It’s not as though it’s intentional. Or malicious.

+

He’s been keeping on guard with Merlin. Looking out for him, nothing more. This man is clearly trying to barter his way into Merlin’s good graces, for what nefarious purposes Arthur can’t yet know. After weeks of following Merlin, he’s _finally_ sneaking away from Gaius’… to go to the tavern.

Arthur frowns, sneaking inside with his hood low only to find Merlin’s nowhere to be found. Not at a table or tucked away but perhaps… upstairs, in a room?

Arthur eases up the stairs and nearly recoils from the sight that greets him. His _knight_ —Sir _Gwaine_ has Merlin pressed up against the wall, hand in his breeches, familiar red neckerchief tied around Gwaine’s wrist, beaming smile on his mouth that Merlin kisses away—

Arthur’s blood boils, eyes narrowing. One thing is certain: he has not yet begun to fight.

* * *

**#15**

“Merlin…” Arthur gasped between kisses. “We mustn’t.”

Merlin felt the soft gust of Arthur’s breath in his ear. Despite his lame protest, Arthur showed no signs of stopping. He dipped his head and pressed his hot mouth against Merlin’s neck.

Merlin dug his fingers into the white tunic that draped Arthur’s shoulders and wondered what had taken Arthur so long to act on his feelings. For months, Merlin had tried to ignore Arthur’s eyes as they followed him in the great hall. He pretended not to notice when Arthur melted into his touch as he dressed him. He dismissed the fondness with which Arthur spoke his name when he thought Merlin wasn’t listening. It wouldn’t serve Merlin well to get his hopes up. But now, with his back pressed against the door of Arthur’s chambers and Arthur’s breath hot in his ear, he knew he hadn’t been mistaken. Arthur wanted him.

Outside the castle, thunder rumbled across the sky.

Merlin let his palms roam down Arthur’s back until he cupped Arthur’s firm arse in his hands. Merlin panted his approval as he kneaded his treasure. With steady force, Merlin ground his hips into Arthur’s, feeling Arthur’s solid cock as it prodded against his own.

Arthur moaned. He grasped Merlin’s wrists and brought them to his hips. “Merlin… there’s something you must know,” Arthur whispered.

“Tell me,” Merlin implored. And since his hands were unavailable, he swayed forward and bit at the laces of Arthur’s tunic, pulling the knot free with his teeth like a feral animal.

“Merlin,” Arthur whimpered. He released Merlin's wrists and took a step backward.

“What is it?” Merlin asked. He moved toward Arthur, noting his downcast eyes and somber pout. He framed Arthur's face with his hands and held him in place while he brushed their mouths together, relishing the slide of Arthur's lips beneath his own. Arthur wanted this as much as Merlin did... as much as Merlin always had.

“It's...” Arthur began, when the need to breathe slowed their kisses. “I need to show you.”

 

Arthur shifted away and shoved down his breeches. The bedchamber was silent, except for the rain that trickled against the window. By the candle’s glow, Arthur threaded his fingers through his hair in frustration.

Merlin knelt and ran his finger over Arthur’s cock—but it wasn’t flesh that he touched. Arthur’s cock had been encased in steel from root to tip with only a tiny opening for him to pass fluids. His balls were denied Merlin’s touch as well, their access as restricted as an impenetrable forest. An intricate lock joined the armor that shielded Arthur’s balls to the steel that sheathed his cock.

“Who did this to you?” Merlin asked, gazing upward to meet Arthur’s eyes.

“My father,” Arthur said. He squeezed Merlin’s shoulders and urged him to his feet.

“It’s his way of ensuring there are no bastards,” Merlin said, trailing his fingers over Arthur’s biceps.

“He doesn’t suspect that I haven’t any interest in fathering a child,” Arthur said with dismay.

Merlin closed his eyes and nipped at Arthur’s jaw, darting his tongue out to lick Arthur’s skin, longing for the taste of the inaccessible wanton flesh below. Arthur moved to catch Merlin’s lips with his own. The renewed kisses seemed to incite Arthur’s lust, making his bare hips hitch in desperation against Merlin’s wool breeches. Merlin’s cock grew harder. He felt Arthur’s warm hands slide beneath the hem of his tunic and sweep across his belly.

Merlin’s words came out as a curious whisper, “What do you do when you touch yourself?”

Arthur stilled before taking Merlin’s hand. He brought Merlin’s fingers to his hole.

Merlin hadn’t noticed the smooth wooden plug before. He raised his eyebrows in question.

“If I move just the right way,” Arthur said, his cheeks blushing pink, “I can find some relief.”

Merlin sighed. He was torn between sorrow and pity for Arthur’s plight. He swallowed hard before speaking. “What if I told you that there was a way I could remove this problem for you?” he asked, his finger tapping Arthur's steel prison.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Merlin,” Arthur said, leaning in to steal a kiss. “It would take an army of five kingdoms to convince me to stop you.”

Without hesitation, Merlin's eyes flashed gold. A crack of thunder sounded in the sky as the steel fell away and clattered on the stone floor.

Merlin hoped Arthur would someday forgive him.

Somewhere in the castle, Uther Pendragon clutched his heart.

* * *

**#16**

“I’m going to be a father.”

Arthur spit out his tea. “Wh-what the hell are you talking about?” 

Merlin laughed as Arthur wiped his mouth. “Sorry. I just had to see the look on your face. It really was worth it.”

Arthur glared at Merlin. “I don’t know how many times I have to say this Merlin, but you’re not funny.”

“Arthur, let me out of here.” Merlin shouted as he stormed forward.

Arthur held up his hand and pressed himself up against his door. Never in his wildest dreams did he think he would have to resort to kidnapping to get Merlin to listen, but Merlin had left him no other choice. “I just want you to hear me.”

Merlin rolled his eyes. “I have heard you, Arthur. I’ve done nothing for the last two weeks but listen to you complain about my decision. What does what I do with my sperm concern you so much?”

Arthur had tried to answer that question for himself for ages. Ever since Merlin had told him that he was planning on selling his sperm to pay for school, it was all that he could think of. He was sure he was just trying to look out for Merlin, but he knew there was more to it than that.

“Merlin, you haven’t thought this through. You’re not ready to be a father.” Arthur reasoned.

Merlin threw up his hands. “Of course I’m not. I’m not going to be a father, not really. I’m just a donor.”

“It’s not that simple. You can’t detach yourself so easily. I know you, Merlin. The thought of there being little pieces of you out there...kids with your smile and your big, blue eyes and those damn ears...it would eat you up inside.”

Merlin clenched his fists and tried to look stoic, but Arthur could see his lower lip quiver slightly. He turned his back on Arthur.

As he spoke the words to Merlin, Arthur thought about Merlin’s future children out there being raised by other people. It tore at Arthur’s gut and it felt so wrong. Merlin would be an amazing father and he deserved that opportunity. If anyone was going to raise Merlin’s kids it should be Merlin...and Arthur wanted to be by his side raising them with him.

Merlin turned back to him and discretely wiped at his eyes. “No matter what you think, it’s my decision. You have no right to try and overrule my decisions.” Merlin strode forward. “Get out of my way.”

Merlin stood toe to toe with Arthur. Feeling Merlin so close, coupled with his realization about what he really wanted, emboldened Arthur and he stepped forward even closer.

He could hear Merlin’s breath hitch. 

“Make me.” Arthur whispered.

Merlin looked between Arthur, the door, and then back again.

Arthur could feel his pants tighten as Merlin licked his lips. He shifted his crotch up against Merlin.

Merlin stepped back. “Arthur what are you doing?”

“Nothing.” He said with faux innocence as he slid his hand up his thigh and cupped his growing erection. 

He could see Merlin’s Adam’s apple bouncing and Merlin’s own erection tenting his pants.

“Aren’t you supposed to make a donation tomorrow? I’m fairly sure you’re not supposed to make any early deposits, right?” He said as he unbuttoned his pants.

“Arthur, stop.” Merlin inched backwards, but Arthur followed him every step of the way.

“I’m not doing anything. Unlike you, I’m allowed to come as much as I want.” Arthur said, his voice thick with the strain of his arousal as he slowly pumped himself. 

Merlin closed his eyes and whimpered. “Please, stop, Arthur.”

“I can’t,” Arthur moaned deliberately as he smoothed his pre-come down his length. The friction made the pleasure even more intense and Arthur knew he would come soon. 

By the sound of Merlin’s breathing he knew he was close as well.

“I’m going to come, Merlin.” Arthur reached out and gripped Merlin’s shoulder and buried his face in his neck.

“Damn you, Arthur.” Merlin whined.

Merlin gripped Arthur’s arse as he groaned into his ear.

Arthur let go at the same time and could feel his come splash against his hand.

They remained holding each other for a few more minutes. Arthur knew this was only a temporary victory, but he was determined to change Merlin's mind and decided he would have fun doing it.

* * *

**#17**

Merlin thumped his suitcase onto the landing with a heavy sigh. His apartment door was standing open, and inside a man was shouting into his phone.

The apartment was smallish, clean, and organized, with the exception of a blonde man in a rumpled suit. His hair was oily and mussed, he had giant bags under his eyes, and even his skin looked stressed.

“Who're you?” Merlin asked.

“Your roommate,” the man snapped. “Apparently.”

“Oh,” Merlin said. “I thought I didn't have a roommate?”

“So did I,” the man said.

Merlin nodded, plonked down his bag in the bedroom, and fell asleep.

It was explained the next day. Merlin was dizzy with jet lag and culture shock, but the gist of it was that he and Arthur were to be roommates because one of the other 'Foreign Professionals' had showed up with an unexpected husband and two children in tow. Arthur wasn't pleased, and Merlin got the sense that their hosts weren't either.

Japan was wonderful, insane and exciting, and nothing could have prepared Merlin for life in Kyoto. But after a day of teaching high school students, sometimes all he wanted was to come home and relax.

Except his roommate had caught him rocking out to Queen once, so that was out.

His roommate had managed to catch him doing... pretty much everything, actually. Still, Arthur had turned out to be a great roommate.

Not in any traditional sense. He left dishes in the sink. He left hair in the shower drain. His socks were everywhere. He kept the volume too high on the TV, and watched horrid programs.

But when Merlin hit a wave of homesickness and Arthur caught him sobbing into a picture of his mum, he'd wrapped him in a blanket, made him a cup of tea, and talked his ear off about the bizarre lumpy drink he'd tried the day before. Half an hour later they were buying as many chunky, slimy, and opaque beverages as they could just so Merlin could watch Arthur's face contort.

So when Arthur walked in on Merlin wanking to gay tentacle porn, he really didn't know what to expect. His hand froze on his cock, and he yanked the earbuds out with a guilty blush.

"Sorry, I thought you were out," he said.

"I'm back. I was going to- you're clearly busy. I'll-"

"No, I'll just-" Merlin had no idea how that sentence was going to end, not while he could hear the tinny moans and squelchy noises coming from the speakers.

Arthur left the room, and Merlin let out a breath before he heard Arthur returning.

"Right," Arthur said. "You could do whatever you like about that-" he waved a hand, "or I could come and help."

"Help?"

"Yes, idiot."

Merlin gulped. "Well, okay then."

Arthur slowly stepped in, and swallowed.

"Okay." He knelt beside Merlin, and wrapped a hand over Merlin's.

"Show me, Merlin," Arthur said, and Merlin had always heard that tone as a personal challenge.

He spread his legs wider, gripped a bit tighter, and rolled his balls gently, tugged a bit so he moaned. Arthur's hand went slack.

"Come on, Arthur, keep up."

Arthur kept up until he'd got the rhythm right and Merlin was jerking into his hand, until Merlin had his hand fisted in his hair, pinching his nipples and nearly crying. Arthur's hand was wide and warm, and Arthur's breath came hot and fast on his neck, and-

"Fuck, Merlin." Through it all tiny people fucked monsters that were much less interesting than a single human hand on his cock.

When Merlin broke, he fell entirely apart. Crying out, biting his lip and yanking his hair, he covered Arthur's hand in come.

As he came back into himself he heard Arthur jerking himself, hand fast on his cock like it hurt. Arthur came with a strangled whimper, and Merlin leaned in to kiss each sound.

Arthur moaned into his lips, and returned lazy kisses as his body relaxed.

"Bed?" Merlin suggested. Arthur climbed onto Merlin's bed. 

They lay in silence until Arthur asked, "Want to do that again later?"

Merlin grinned. "Yeah, let's."

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Two months later Arthur knocked on the bedroom door.

"Made you a surprise."

"Oh god."

"I think you'll like it."

Merlin followed him into the kitchen, and stopped dead. There on the counter was a carved turnip.

"Arthur, is that-"

"Yep!"

"I can't believe you made me a tentacle."

* * *

**#18**

They are three hours away from Camelot when the rain finally ends. A thin, icy wind takes its place, whistling through the trees at the edge of the forest. Arthur shivers when the wind stings his eyes and nose; for the first time since they left, he wishes for hot, overcrowded banquet hall in the castle at Mercia. 

Standing at the edge of the clearing, Arthur crosses his arms against the wind and watches as his men pitch camp. They only need enough space to set up their tents and some protection from the wind. 

Arthur doesn't turn when he hears footsteps approach, though he smiles when a hand rests on his shoulder. 

"It was the right choice." Merlin squeezes his shoulder, and though he's sure he's imagining it, Arthur feels bodyheat through his armor. "Everyone's worn out from the storm. You look so tired," he adds, quietly. 

Arthur replies with a frown, clenching his jaw against another shiver. All he wants is to curl into Merlin's side, to close his eyes and feel Merlin's hand move from his shoulder to the base of his back, to have Merlin pull him near and, when he opens his eyes, to find them standing in the pool of yellow candlelight in his private apartments. 

"Go see that my squire's set up my tent properly, then see to the horses. And get some dinner for yourself. There should be something hot."

Merlin's hand moves from his shoulder to his back, but disappears before Arthur is tempted to move into the touch. Merlin nods before he leaves, a little crease between his eyebrows, and Arthur knows he must look worse than tired. 

By the time his walk through the campsite leads him to his own tent, Arthur certainly feels worse than tired. The shivering seems to come over him with each gust of wind and there is an odd, cold emptiness inside him that he has not yet been able to name, but that he knows is related to the hollowness he hears when anyone addresses him as 'king.' It is his father's title, and like the king's quarters in Camelot, it feels too big and too empty for Arthur to inhabit. 

The tent he's had set up instead of the royal pavilion is warm enough, however, and Merlin's made up what looks less like a camp-bed and more like a pile of random blankets and rugs in the corner.

Arthur braces himself against another case of the chills as Merlin helps him out of his armor, then hides his face in Merlin's shoulder when he cannot help but shiver at the feel of the cool air against his damp skin. 

"I wanted to get home tonight."

"I know," Merlin says, lips pressing to Arthur's hair. He rubs his hands up and down Arthur's arms, then tugs him over the to the bed. "Let's get some rest." 

The bed really _is_ just a tumble of blankets--Merlin's hardly bothered to do much else--but the warmth and the closeness are soothing. Familiar, Arthur thinks, and noses into the hollow of Merlin's throat. 

He wraps himself around Merlin, chest to chest and groin to groin, until his world dwindles down to this one space. Merlin kisses Arthur's ear, sighs, and kisses him again. The gesture is small and intimate, and it's enough. 

Arthur presses in closer, suddenly and desperately aroused. He doesn't wait for Merlin to react, but slides one hand down Merlin's side to grip his thigh and hold him tight. Their bodies fit together just right, with just enough room to slide against his each other and to gasp kisses against each other's lips. 

Arthur brings Merlin off first, so he can hold Merlin even closer, can feel his body go relaxed and pliant, can shudder against him and burrow himself so close after he comes that he is wrapped up in Merlin's scent. 

*

Arthur watches the camp come alive at sunrise. The next morning is clear, bright and cold, the world scrubbed clean by yesterday's wind and rain.

Merlin comes to stand with him after dressing, then reaches his arms around Arthur's shoulders. "Here," he says, tying his scarf around Arthur's neck and tucking it into his tunic. "This will keep you warm until we get back to Camelot." 

The scarf isn't particularly comfortable, but it reminds Arthur of the nest of blankets and the soft scent of Merlin's skin upon waking.

* * *

**#19**

"Alien pornography. Yeah. Okay. That's..." Arthur cocked his head and squinted at the amorphous forms flowing around them, trying to make sense of the light show, then shook his head when his eyes started to hurt. He stumbled, and Merlin grabbed his arm and pulled it over his shoulders, dragging Arthur up.

"Stop staring at the lights," Merlin muttered in his ear, body warm and firm and braced against his side, oblivious to the fact that he was maybe one and a half inches from having Arthur's rock-hard prick jammed into his hip. "Focus. We need to get out of here. We are going to be the leading.. leading somethings in this alien porno in about fifteen minutes if we can't find the exit or some kind of off-switch."

Focus... no. The shifting patterns of colours were beginning to make sense to him. Here there was a body, lithe and supple like Merlin's, and there, hands, mouths, other bodies moving over the first, all looking like his own... it felt so real, as though he could taste Merlin's bitter pre-come on his tongue, feel the sleek muscles shift beneath his palms.

He shivered, and Merlin pressed closer, face set in worry. 

"Arthur, did they get you? I saw one of them holding an injector..."

He shook his head again, coughed, trying to clear the ghostly sense of swallowing Merlin's heavy cock down his throat until he could feel curling hairs on his lips. Half-choked and coughed until the sensation faded. "No, they discussed had needed was to see the mindfield and his imagination had readily provided everything else. "You were right," he thought to add, "we shouldn't watch the alien porn."

"What?" Distracted, Merlin turned to see what Arthur was watching, looking confused at first, and then his perfect mouth fell open. It would fit around Arthur's cock so beautifully, Arthur thought. Arthur could wear him all day. Arthur could see and feel himself wearing Merlin's mouth all day.

"What is..." Merlin's eyes flicked to him, then back to the shifting lights. He turned towards Arthur, eyes nearly black with arousal, and Arthur could feel Merlin's hard cock brush against his own.

They moved as one, reaching for each other in desperate union, mouths drawn together as inexorably as gravity, crushing their bodies together to the flow of the pulsating lights.

"I almost don't care that Mordred will be watching the whole thing with his hand down his pants, that creeper," Merlin hissed as they rocked their hips together, real sensations tangling with those aroused by the alien pornographic field. Taking that as encouragement, Arthur jammed both hands into Merlin's pants to squeeze the firm cheeks he'd coveted for so long. "Gwaine bet Leon that we wouldn't be able to resist any more than they could."

Arthur growled and bit Merlin's shoulder. "Damn it. My banshee sister will never stop laughing about this. She bet we wouldn't be able to retrieve the blueprints. She bet we would be stopped in this room just like those idiots, even."

"Fuck." Merlin closed his eyes and thrust against Arthur, looking almost meditative. "I hate to lose a bet. And we do need that information." His hands clenched bruisingly hard over Arthur's arms. "Fuck. I want to fuck you so much."

"Nnngrh..." He nearly whimpered at the impression of a cock inside him as Merlin voiced the thought. But they had a mission. "Tell you what, we get this retrieval done, and then you fuck me when we get back. We will collect on those bets and you can fuck me while rolling in their credits."

"Yes." A fierce clarity returned, burning away the lust-hazed look from Merlin's eyes. Arthur let out a pained moan as Merlin gave his cock a last, firm squeeze before shoving him off and rolling to his feet. "Let's do it."

* * *

**#20**

Morgana doesn't know the man who holds out his hand to her over the Beltane fire. She doesn't care. The drums thunder in her blood. She's young and untouched and her skin burns hotter than the fire.

She takes his hand and jumps over the fire, committing herself to his arms tonight. 

He’s tall and strong. She twines her arms around his neck, and when he embraces her in return, her feet come off the ground. Her breasts crush against the muscle of his chest; the hard ridge in his breeches rubs through the fabric of her dress against her thigh.

His mouth tastes of sour ale, and even that excites her as he carries her to the shadows. He lays her down on the soft clover. She lets him pull open her bodice so his mouth can find her breasts, and his steady suckle on her nipple makes her ache all the way down through her belly. She arches up against him.

“Get off her, you animal!” 

Suddenly Morgana is pushing up against empty air. It takes a moment for her haze of arousal to dissipate, for her to associate the voice and the thump of a person slamming into a tree with the loss of her lover.

“The lass was willing,” her man protests. 

“That lass is the Lady Morgana,” barks the voice Morgana finds most infuriating in all the world. “I should have you gelded for sullying her.”

“Arthur!” Morgana staggers to her feet. “Unhand him. You have no right to interfere.”

He whirls around to look at her incredulously. “I have every right,” he starts, then winces and turns his head. “Cover yourself, Morgana, by all that’s holy.”

In defiance, she rips the rest of her dress open and lets it slide down her legs. “I will not,” she says, because this is holy, she is holy: the ache in her breasts and the wet rub of her thighs and the hard cock she claimed for herself. 

“Then you leave me no choice.” Face grim in the moonlight, he seizes her and heaves her up into his arms. She screams in rage, but he ignores her and strides away from the fires, back towards the cold, joyless castle.

No one will interfere with the prince, and they both know it. But Morgana’s blood still runs hot, lust gone to fury. She lashes out at his face. He flinches back in surprise; it throws him off balance for only a second, but that’s enough for Morgana to thrash wildly against the restraint of his arms.

They tumble to the ground. “You’re a bloody hellcat,” Arthur says as he struggles to pin her down and subdue her. 

“I’m a woman,” she corrects and digs her heel into the earth and pushes until she takes him down onto his back. 

He has his hands locked around her wrists, so her body follows his. Her naked arse slides down the slope of his thighs—and over his cock. He hisses in involuntary pleasure.

Morgana stills, and they stare at each other in mutual fascination tinged with arousal and horror. Experimentally, she spreads her legs wider and angles her hips so her wet cunt rubs over him. He groans and begins to harden enough that she can feel it pressing into her. 

“Morgana,” he protests weakly when she opens his breeches and pulls him free. “We can’t—this isn’t—“

“The goddess wants her due, Arthur,” she murmurs. She isn’t really listening, too fascinated by the thick flesh in her hands. It makes sense, like some ancient puzzle fitting together, that the first cock she touches, the first cock she’s going to take, is Arthur’s.

Her fingers slowly silence his protests. Soon a glistening drop wells up from the head. Morgana thumbs it off, and stifles a moan as an answering surge dampens her thighs. She can’t wait another minute to have it inside her.

She lifts herself up and angles his cock between her legs. She rubs the head through her wetness and over her clit. Then she presses it against her entrance and holds it as she sinks herself down onto it.

A week ago, she had taken the liberty of battering through her maidenhead with a candle, so the only pain now is good pain from the stretch of his girth. She rocks her hips, getting used to the intrusion, making her body welcome it. After a minute, she relaxes--his flesh feels truly one with hers at last.

Hesitantly, Arthur lifts his hands to her hips. She smiles through her building pleasure, goddess rampant.

* * *

**#21**

Arthur's hand resting on his bare shoulder. Naked together for the first time, hip to hip. The buzz of bees beyond the open door, of the girls out on the lawn. Mouth sticky with the cherry cordial Arthur'd nicked from the warden's office. 

_"For courage. It's tradition."_

Arthur pokes his head out, peering right, then left. "Now," he says, pushing Merlin over the threshold. "Go, _run_!"

Shoe-tamed feet clumsy on the flagstones – Arthur soon overtakes him – then settling into damp earth and clipped grass, shockingly warm from the sun; the sensation of air on Merlin's skin like a full-body slap, the tightening of nipples, pores, balls. He doesn't look down, but he can feel his prick bouncing, smacking against his thighs. 

Sunlight stings his eyes, washes over Arthur. Golden head, pale muscled back-bottom-thighs, tan calves, the flashing pink soles of his feet – _Arthur_ stings Merlin's eyes. He's the stark, impossible answer to questions asked earlier.

_"Who's the prettiest, do you reckon? Anyone you fancy?"_

A shout goes up from the crowd on the lawn; they've been seen. Laughter. Squeals. The girls from Gawant Hall.

Merlin keeps his eyes up as they weave through the maze of limbs and blankets, elbows pumping, high-stepping over rucksacks and lunch hampers. Shrieks, catcalls – Morgana's crew smack at them with rolled revision notes – but all Merlin cares about is never stopping, never slowing, Arthur up ahead. 

He feels air on his teeth and realises he's grinning.

Shouts alert them to old Geoffrey, plodding around the far corner of the building. Whooping, Arthur veers left, plunging downhill. Through the flowerbeds, over the ha-ha and across the lower lawn, cheered on by the girls. He glances back once, eyes merry, then dives through a gap in the hedge. 

Merlin follows, picking his way through the sawn-off twiglets and bristling leaves before he's caught, yanked, spun around. 

"Ow! What the – " 

A hand smothering his mouth, tugging him back against… 

"Shh, in here. Duck."

… damp skin, tense muscle, something squishier brushing against his buttocks.

In a daze, Merlin lets himself be guided back through a low stone archway, veiled by ivy, and down three steps. The old gatehouse tower. He's heard the rumours: generations of firsts for Gawant girls and Camelot boys. Arthur squeezes them into the cellar stairwell, Merlin burning up at the thought that this is the hand Arthur bowls cricket with, the one he probably – 

He's hard. Trembling.

"Steady now." The hand slides down, pats Merlin's chest. "Geoffrey's all huff and no puff. He'll give up soon enough."

"Could report us." 

"You forget. I'm Head Boy."

Merlin hasn’t. Can't. It's why there's never any bloody _air_ at this school.

"Plus I told you, it's tradition. On May Day, Camelot boys – "

"That was weeks ago!" Merlin forgets himself, turns. "I don't see why – _Shit_." His swollen prick skids past Arthur's soft one, hanging fat and heavy from its nest, and pokes him in the crease of his hip.

"Sorry, it's just…um." He tries to cover up, but Arthur knocks his hands away. 

"You weren't here then." Quiet. Calm. He holds Merlin's gaze before looking down.

Merlin gasps as Arthur traces the scar with his thumb. It's a faint red line now, ends dimpled. Acute appendicitis. He doesn’t remember, but they'd told him Arthur had carried him to Matron. 

"You very nearly _weren't here._ Thought I'd never get a chance to…" 

Arthur's hand moves, stroking Merlin's hip, his lower belly, then – palm in a loose curl around his prick, the scuff of callouses, a gentle squeeze. A pulse of clear fluid.

Merlin stares. "I've never – "

"I figured." Arthur's mouth on his mouth, a murmur of dry lips and sour-sweet cherry spit. Grip tighter now, a rhythmic, twisting pull. "You can touch me, too."

"Shit, _shit_ that's…"

His first real kiss and now Arthur's cock's surging into his hand, his hot breath on Merlin's cheek, saying, "Had my eye on you, Emrys."

Not so impossible after all.

Merlin hears Geoffrey's bluster fade away, the faint laughter of the girls on the lawn. He claims another kiss, this one desperate, muffling his cry on Arthur's tongue as he thrusts, shoots, spills what feels like a year's worth of ache.

After, he's high. Shameless. He works Arthur with both hands, slicked with his own come. "Morgana," he whispers, tasting the sweat on Arthur's neck. "She's prettiest. But you're the only one I fancy."

Arthur strains, coming with a silent, whole-body shudder. Then he slumps against Merlin, laughing. Loud. Like he doesn’t care who hears.

* * *


	6. Group B (clean)

**#22**

Arthur Pendragon learns some things about himself this weekend:  
1\. He’s rather terrible at fishing.  
2\. A weekend trip to Gwaine’s cabin by the lake is exactly what he needed.  
3\. He wants to fuck Gwaine’s little brother.

The latter is one revelation that Arthur wishes he could be without. His feet skim the surface of the water as he squints against the late afternoon sun, his hands gripping the edge of the docks. Soaking in the dissipating heat of the day, his thoughts don’t go to the column he should be writing, but to Merlin soaked to the bone after his tumble into the lake.

Merlin had laughed, neck exposed as he threw his head back, white t-shirt sticking to his skin. Arthur stared, unabashedly, his eyes lingering on the smooth expanse of Merlin’s stomach.

When Merlin realised he’d only brought an extra pair of shorts, Arthur handed him his spare t-shirt and had to spend the rest of the day staring at the way it hung off his narrow shoulders, knowing it’d smell like Merlin when he got it back.

Shame had turned his cheeks pink every time he found himself staring at the thin, young frame of the _teenager_ wearing his shirt, looking like he belonged to Arthur.

*

“What are you doing here?” Arthur says, pausing as the door slams behind him.

Merlin sits cross-legged on Arthur’s bed and flashes a hesitant, boyish smile when he looks up.

“Thought you’d like your shirt back.”

Arthur isn’t sure if he should comment on the absurdity of that explanation considering Merlin is still wearing it. It hangs off his narrow frame and Arthur wants to tear it off and gag him with it. Or bury his own face in it while he jerks himself raw.

Merlin’s lips are parted, as if he wants to say something.

“You’re seventeen,” Arthur says before Merlin can get the words out.

Merlin squares his jaw. “Yeah, I am. A whole year older than sixteen. I’ve seen you watching all day, okay? I might be seventeen but I’m not an idiot.”

Shit, fuck, bugger, _fuck_.

“I shouldn’t have. God, Merlin, I’m so fucking sorry for being ridiculously inappropriate.”

“Oh my god, stop.” Merlin gets up and moves towards him. “It’s not like you’re sixty. I like it when you stare.” He pauses. “It makes me hard.”

Arthur groans, his traitor cock hardening in his shorts. And Merlin is standing there, stupidly plump lips parted, wearing his shirt and smelling of sun-warm skin and sunscreen.

Closing his eyes, Arthur takes a breath and reaches out, fumbling until his hands twist into _his_ shirt. He drags Merlin close, kissing him too hard and too urgent, the messiness of it betraying Merlin’s inexperience and his own desperation.

But it’s so fucking good, Merlin’s tongue hot and eager, his long fingers resting uncertainly on Arthur’s ribs.

He knows it’s fucked up. He knows Merlin probably hasn’t done much, but it just makes him want it more. He sucks bruises into Merlin’s neck, circles his hand around Merlin’s cock with a muffled groan of relief, swallows Merlin’s whimpers when he starts fucking up into Arthur’s grip.

He should take it slow, be careful and considerate. But all he wants is to be the first one to fuck Merlin until he cries, to be the first one to feel Merlin come apart on his cock.

“Keep the shirt on,” Arthur says, voice hoarse.

He pushes Merlin face first onto the bed, working him open with lube he’d left under the pillow after jerking off last night. Taking his time, he soothes Merlin with his free hand. He runs his hand softly through Merlin’s hair as he slides a third finger in, twisting them into Merlin’s greedy hole.

Merlin bucks up into him and cries out, a bright flush disappearing under the neckline.

“Ssh,” Arthur says. Gwaine is two doors down the hall.

Arthur’s going to hell.

Merlin mutters, “Please, please,” and Arthur slides inside, heart pounding against his ribs as Merlin takes him in.

They fuck with Arthur’s hand clamped over Merlin’s mouth to muffle the desperate moans he can’t keep in, his arse taking the steady pounding of Arthur’s cock. Arthur has never felt so wired before, shame and bone-melting arousal mixing until he can’t even see straight.

He buries his face in his shirt, smells Merlin and sex, drowning in the press of Merlin’s lips against his fingers and the thought of them wrapping around his cock.

* * *

**#23**

*

Uther remarries when Arthur is eleven. Hunith has a lovely smile, bakes like a goddess and doesn’t try to be his “new mummy”, so Arthur accepts her pretty readily (the cinnamon buns help, though).

When Merlin is born a year after, Arthur looks at the black-haired child and shrugs internally. Uther gives Arthur a rare hug, and that is the strongest memory he has from that day, not the stupid baby.

*

When Merlin turns five, and spends the day eating cake with his whole face, Arthur kisses his first boy behind the garden shed.

*

At university, Arthur talks to Uther and Merlin on the phone only occasionally, but spends most of his time either on the football pitch or in his boyfriend’s bed, exploring all the crevices of Gwaine’s body and tasting everything on there that has a taste. He’s learning completely different things than Uther wants him to.

*

Arthur gets a job in London. He doesn’t miss his tiny home town at all, but sometimes his mind strays to Merlin. How is he? Is he being bullied in school, with those big ears of his?

*

Merlin as a teenager is quirky, but quick to laugh and is surprisingly clever. Not that Arthur tells him that. He also grows ten inches in six months, and when Arthur gets home at Christmas the year Merlin has turned 18, he’s almost fully grown. Still a bit lanky and awkward, but you can see how he’ll turn out eventually. Arthur finds himself teasing the teen, grabbing him and rough-housing him a bit. Somehow, he’s missed him.

When Hunith brings out the Monopoly, he pretends that he doesn’t notice Merlin getting hard as they wrestle for the top-hat piece, but he does. What Arthur finds even more worrisome is that he wants to feel it more than just for a few seconds pressing up against his leg. He wants to see it, touch it, suck it.

He can’t helping watching Merlin more closely after that, but he at least keeps his distance.

*

When he goes back to London, it takes a week before Merlin texts him. Nothing special. Just a _You’re a clotpole._

_thats not a word you big baby_

_How about ‘prat’?_

_not a word either it just means ur an idiot merlin_

_Well, at least I can use proper spelling and punctuation._

_jfc u pretentious little shit. bring it here and then well talk_

_I’ve worked out since Christmas. I can take you for sure._

_so ur beefed urself up in a week huh_

_Maybe I gave up. Didn’t want to make Dad cry that his oldest son is such a nancy boy._

_i swear to god merlin dont write checks ur body cant cash_

There’s a few minutes before the next message. Like Merlin’s hesitating.

_I know you felt it. My cock._

For a second, Arthur panics. What if Merlin noticed how Arthur couldn’t stop looking at him after their wrestling match? What if he tells Uther, or even worse – Hunith?

He’s just about to send a text saying that Merlin got it all wrong, when his phone vibrates and a new text lights up the screen.

_It likes you._

Jesus fucking Christ.

_It wants you to hold me down and fuck me._

JESUS FUCKING CHRIST.

Arthur doesn’t answer right away, because his cock is definitely interested in this. He puts down his phone on the bedside table, unzips his jeans and gets his cock out. Closing his eyes, he works his hand up the shaft and it’s too dry, but it’s perfect because Arthur imagines Merlin doing it. Innocent, awkward Merlin with the big ears, the goofy smile and the dark hair. Groaning, he imagines running his hand through that hair as Merlin sucks him off, tightening the grip and making Merlin moan with pleasure.

He’d be such a horny bugger. He would like being treated a bit roughly, Arthur thinks. Maybe he can bend that virgin body over his huge desk and fuck him raw. Fuck him until he cries for mercy. Fuck him until he will feel it for days. Hold him down and–

He comes hard and is still a bit groggy when his phone vibrates again.

_Please tell me you don’t think I’m a freak._

Arthur smiles, satisfied.

_oh u definitely r but i like it. when r u coming to visit?_

* * *

**#24**

Freya unrolled the leather pouch. There were two stainless steel knives, and a rubber, play knife. She pulled them out, one by one. Freya ran a gloved hand up the blade of each one, twisting it to see the light reflect in the metal.

She had a routine.

First check for nicks, rust, and any imperfections. Her knives were an important part of her life, and she treated them as such. They were oiled every couple of months, and inspected before and after each play.

Then check the sharpness. The largest knife was the bluntest, and the smallest was the sharpest. She made sure that the process of sharpening or dulling hadn't damaged them. She used her own forearm to check the sharpness, pressing them against her skin. Not hard enough to draw blood, but to leave a red mark. She noted how much pressure she needed to use.

Finally, sterilisation, and any other sensation-based prep. All the blades were sterilised using alcohol and while wearing a fresh pair of latex gloves. The feeling of latex against her skin would forever be linked to knifeplay and Merlin in her head now.

Freya felt herself settle into the headspace needed for this evening.

~~~

Merlin knelt on the floor, head down. Freya blindfolded him, running her fingers through his messy hair as she did.

She picked up the play blade first. She could be rough with this one, slapping Merlin with the side of the blade. It didn't break his skin, but it left a blade-shaped red mark. She used the tip to poke Merlin in random places until he was jumpy, then stroked him with the flat until he settled again.

Freya watched the rhythm of Merlin's breath, watching him for a moment. The level of trust that he placed in her was exhilarating.

“Real play now,” she murmured to him, putting the rubber knife down and picking up the medium sized knife. They hadn't planned a long scene, so she was only going to use the one real knife.

She dragged the flat of the blade along the pale of Merlin's skin which instantly broke out in gooseflesh. Merlin shuddered, and Freya carried on stroking Merlin's skin until Merlin was still, and whining softly.

“Hush,” she said, adjusting her grip.

Freya moved the blade down Merlin's arm, dragging the point to make the tiniest cut on Merlin's upper arm. Merlin shuddered, and made a guttural noise. Freya swallowed hard, the noise making her aware of her own arousal, the dampness of her cunt.

She looked down briefly and saw that Merlin's erection was straining against his jeans.

Freya put the knife down, and watched as a bead of blood welled at the cut before breaking, and dripping down Merlin's arm, leaving a bright red trail.

Freya knelt in front of Merlin, leaning forward to remove the blindfold.  
Merlin blinked, sleepy-eyed and happy. “Hey,” he whispered.

“Hey,” Freya replied, running a hand through his hair again. “Lets get you cleaned up.”

“Then bed?” Merlin asked.

“Then bed,” Freya said, cupping Merlin's erection with her hand, squeezing slightly. Merlin whined and kissed her. Freya wanted to press forward, to feel Merlin against her, but she knew they had to stop until Merlin was cleaned up.

Freya got up, pulling Merlin up with her. She cleaned the cut and put a plaster on it (Hulk – Merlin's favourite).

“Still can't believe you got Marvel plasters.”

“They were on offer,” Freya said, which wasn't a lie, but it also wasn't why she picked them up. “Come on, bed.”

“Yes,” Merlin said, hands cupping her waist as they moved to the bed. Freya's clit was tingling and she wanted to rut artlessy until she came. Instead she knee-walked up the bed until she was straddling Merlin's face. Merlin licked and sucked at her clit, and she whined, moving back and forth.

She came quickly, clenching and gasping. Merlin pressed his head back into the bed, gasping and swearing and Freya knew he was touching himself and coming.

* * *

**#25**

It's for the good of us all, he remembers the village elders proclaiming. A noble sacrifice.

Arthur's but a farmer—with dark, soft earth and ashes under his fingernails he's unable to scrub, and skin freckled brown by long and tiring days still to come.

There's nothing special about him.

*

Arthur misses the security of the rowan branch hanging over his door-frame.

Even as a nurseling, he had been warned of the Unseelie. They come to snatch up up, to enchant you, to drag you to their kingdom and enslave you. Consume you body and soul.

Twilight creeps in, silent as ivy. His next breath catches in his throat as a shadowy, cloaked figure enters. It's a _man_ shrugging off the worn, ratty material. Exposed, milky skin that Arthur's eyes follow in growing suspicion as he remains motionless on his cot.

Nearly a living skeleton, thin and gaunt. Dark, curling tufts of hair under the man's arms, and a cock jutting from between his legs, dusky-colored and slimmer than Arthur's.

Arthur feels the tip press wetly against his naked thigh, as the blanket is cast aside.

“Emrys,” he says, partly questioning. Trying to hardest to appear unaffected, and Arthur knows himself to fail when his own groin heats with blood and need, in the simplest touch. A hand wraps to Arthur and he gives a keening cry, bucking into enveloping, tingling warmth.

The creature grins above him, beautifully human with whole, pearly teeth, crawling between Arthur's opening legs and nuzzling his chest, mouthing the blond fur.

“You give yourself to me?”

Emrys's voice keeps a low, comforting timbre, keeping him from any thought of bolting.

Arthur—only a farmer, a virginal sacrifice, and _alone_ —drags Emrys's rune-tattooed face up, kisses him with enough force to see the constellations of bright stars behind his eyelids. Something hot and sharp in his gut. He almost laughs as Emrys yelps surprised.

A mingling of their spit dangles from Arthur's lips.

“Yes, you idiot,” he snaps. “Now fuck me.”

*

Magic, as Arthur learns, and sex makes him lightheaded and unable to think clearly.

He trembles in place, muscles clenching, biting his lip as Emrys licks against his puffy, stretched hole, where Arthur still felt some of the come inside him dripping out. He swallows down another building moan as Emrys sucks away a dribble of fluid-warmth.

“Mm, lovely,” he murmurs into Arthur's hipbone, running his fingers over his slick perineum.

Arthur looks at him, and he understands.

His hand reaches to cup the angle of Emrys's cheek. The pleasant hover of magic disappears, replacing with a quick and _blistering_ push of heat. _Get away from me._

Emrys hisses wildly like a struck animal, eyes tinting an orangish glow.

He heaves himself towards the cot's end, holding tightly to his jaw and making pitiful noises.

Ignoring the silver of fear inside him, Arthur moves closer.

“Stop being such a girl's petticoat,” he says, patiently. “Let me see.”

“That _hurt_ , you cabbagehead,” he whines. Arthur rolls his eyes, before noticing Emrys's slowly bluing eyes fill with glistening tears. He pries Emrys's hand away, examining the flaming red mark. “Why are you wearing iron…?” Emrys asks, _sounding_ as if he was crying.

Arthur's eyes drop to his mother's beloved ring secure to his forefinger. He reaches back with his other hand, dragging away the line of moisture from Emrys's cheekbone.

“…I'm sorry,” Arthur says, expression guilty. “Will you be alright?”

A nod.

“For you,” Emrys tells him eventually, lips twitching to a small smile.

*

Spring blinks out of existence, leaving Arthur's body satiated and exhausted. And every season thereon, until his sun-browned and youthful skin begins to wizen, Arthur's joints creaking.

The crops ripen and flourish, unharmed by the pestilence devastating the lands. Other villages come flocking to them for protection and for the bountiful, celebratory harvests.

*

“Come with me.”

It's a plea, more than anything, and Arthur feels consumed by its weight.

With lips melding together, Emrys releasing a devout breath into him, Arthur feels his old, aching limbs strengthen. His rheumy eyes clear, and his tendons go firm.

“You gave yourself to me, Arthur…”

The burn mark on Emrys's jaw visible in the ruddy light and bruised plum.

“I'm not special,” he protests.

“You are _to me_.”

*

Twilight emerges, and then fades.

Arthur follows its path, and he never returns to his loneliness.

*

* * *

**#26**

Ms. Le Fay was the hottest teacher at Camelot Prep. Everyone agreed on this, even if their taste ran toward men rather than women.

She was also the most terrifying.

No one argued about her level of terrifying. What had people whispering and talking was why she was at Camelot Prep in the first place.

"I heard she can't find a job anywhere else," Elena whispered, as they gathered around the lunch table. "She murdered some poor Omega and now she's been blacklisted."

"She'd be in jail for that," Freya pointed out.

"Probably not. Everyone knows she's Pendragon's bastard and he'd get her out," Sefa argued. "She's here because her mate is here."

The rest of the girls at the table gasped, and Gwen felt a flood of warmth crash over her.

"But who could that be?" Elena asked, forgetting to keep her voice at a whisper. "Mr. Emyrs is the only Omega teacher and he's taken."

"Maybe she's fighting with Mr. Pendragon over Mr. Emyrs," Freya said, sighing wistfully.

"That's not right," Mithian said. "How about we make this easy? Gwen, you should go ask."

-

Ms. Le Fay was a dangerous woman, and Gwen knew that very well. Especially with the heat coursing through her and the way her panties grew damp as she approached Ms. Le Fay's door.

"Come in, Gwen," Ms. Le Fay said, before she could even knock on the door, and Gwen dutifully pushed open the door and stepped inside. Ms. Le Fay was looking at her, lounging in her chair with a smirk on her lips. "You wanted something?"

"I-I -well, we-we were curious about um...," Gwen started, flapping her hands about and trying to focus. The heat in her core flared, burning its way through her. Gwen couldn't focus, the room kept blurring around her and all she could see and smell and hear was Ms. Le Fay.

"About what, Guinevere?" Ms. Le Fay asked, rising out of her chair and walking toward Gwen. "The rumors?"

From a distance, Gwen felt herself nod.

"I didn't kill an Omega," Ms. Le Fay said.

"Not- not that-"

"Ah, the other one." Ms. Le Fay smirked at that, reaching Gwen's side, although she didn't touch Gwen. Gwen trembled and ached, the fire burning so fierce inside her she thought she might explode. She had to struggle to hear Ms. Le Fay speak. "My mate is here?"

"Yes. Is he?"

"She," Ms. Le Fay corrected. "And I'm not sure. Is she?"

Ms. Le Fay reached out, _finally_ , Gwen thought, and curled her fingers around Gwen's neck, tangling in Gwen's curls, and every other thought fled her mind except Ms. Le Fay.

"Is she?" Ms. Le Fay asked again, when Gwen failed to respond, and brought her other hand up to trace Gwen's lips. "Is my mate here?"

"Yes!" Gwen cried, and it felt like a benediction.

Ms. Le Fay pulled Gwen to her, crushing their mouths together, and it made Gwen tremble, the fire tamed but more intense despite - because of - that.

"My beautiful Gwen," Ms. Le Fay said, breaking the kiss and cupping Gwen's face in her hands. "You're going to be my good girl, aren't you? Mine and mine alone."

"Yes, yes," Gwen agreed, nodding frantically. The words were at once a balm and a fan, pleasing her soul and leaving her body aching for something she didn't understand. "Please, Ms. Le Fay, I need- I don't."

"I know what you need," Ms. Le Fay said. She dragged her hands down Gwen's sides, sliding beneath Gwen's skirt and into her wet panties. "I can't give you exactly what you need right now, but you're going to take this and go be my good girl, and come back here when classes are over."

She slid two fingers inside Gwen without preamble, but it wasn't enough. Gwen rolled her hips against Ms. Le Fay's hand, whimpering and trembling. Ms. Le Fay only laughed at her, gently, and slid a third finger in, thrusting sharply.

The stretch was a pleasant burn and, while not quite perfect, just enough that surged against Ms. Le Fay, crying out. She must have blacked out, because when she next opened her eyes, they were on the floor, Ms. Le Fay petting her hair.

"There's my girl," she said. "My beautiful girl. You're going to come back after school and I'll take you home and tie you to me, keep you in my bed forever."

* * *

**#27**

“He’s in there,” Merlin whispers once they reach the door.

“Merlin, I know. It’s not my first time with a client, you didn’t have to walk me here.” When Merlin just gives him a worried look, Mordred decides to bite. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, it’s just that… he’s mine.”

Mordred’s confusion lasts another second before he realises what Merlin’s getting at. “Is it… is it him?” Merlin nods. “But why does he want me?” Mordred shuts his mouth before he lets his voice rise enough for the man inside the room to hear.

“You’ll see?” Merlin suggests. “I’ll come see you after,” he promises and kisses Mordred’s cheek before he walks away.

Mordred gives himself a second before he presses the handle and walks inside.

He’s only been in the Mirror Room once before. He’s surprised to see it stripped of all the glass but for one of the walls, and the furniture - all that’s left is an armchair where the client is seated.

They regard each other for a moment, then Mordred’s lips curl into a smirk and he’s about to introduce himself when the other man stops him by simply raising his hand a few inches above the armrest.

“You’re not to speak,” the man starts, voice calm, “unless I say you can. This rule can only be broken if you want to stop at any point, for any reason. Is that understood?” Mordred takes a breath to reply, then catches himself and nods instead. “Good,” the man nods as well and rises to his feet.

Mordred’s intrigued, even more so than before. This is Merlin’s prized client standing before him and Mordred takes a moment to appraise the man as he comes closer. He’s all blue eyes and golden hair and pouty lips, but he’s got an air of quiet power around him that Mordred’s not quite sure he understands. He already wants to be good, wants to please him, and not just because he’s getting paid to do so.

When they’re face to face the client raises a hand to play with a lock of hair on Mordred’s brow. “You’re ready for me?” Mordred nods. “Good,” says the man again and leans in for a kiss.

His lips are chaste when he presses them to Mordred’s, but his hands are anything but; immediately they untie Mordred’s silk robe and one is pressed against the skin of his lower back, the sleeve of the no doubt expensive coat rubbing against Mordred’s side. A second later the hand slips along the crack of his arse and plays around his hole. A fingertip sinks inside and Mordred pushes back onto it, making the man chuckle.

“Merlin keeps talking about you,” he whispers in Mordred’s ear, then moves behind him and turns them around until they’re facing the mirrored wall. “How lovely you are,” he continues, walking them closer to the wall. “Had to shut him up with my cock more than once.”

Mordred swallows, picturing Merlin on his knees, the man fucking Mordred’s name back into his throat.

“You really are quite lovely,” the man murmurs as he places his head on Mordred’s shoulder and looks at their reflection. He unfolds the robe and makes an appreciative sound when his hands start roaming Mordred’s body. He reaches for Mordred’s pocket and takes out the small bottle of lube. “Give me your hand,” he says and Mordred’s automatically reaches up, ready to gather the lube spilling from the bottle. As it pools in his palm, the man speaks again. “I want you to touch yourself. Show me how you like it,” he says.

A little whimper escapes Mordred’s throat. He lets the man hug him closer, support him as he grasps himself and slides a hand up and down his cock. He doesn’t know what to do. Should he go at it right away? Should he make it last?

“Come on,” the man says, voice breathy. He lifts Mordred’s robe and slides two fingers in Mordred’s arse. “I want to see you come. You like people watching, don’t you? What if this was a one-way mirror? What if there were people behind it...”

“Ah,” Mordred says, then lowers his head, ashamed of his slip.

“It’s Arthur,” the man says and Mordred can hear his smile. He lifts his head to see it in the mirror, then closes his eyes against it when Arthur touches his sweet spot. “You can say it if you want to.”

Mordred ends up screaming it.

* * *

**#28**

Arthur Pendragon’s services were pricey and made to order. Those who could afford him waited months, and even then, he often turned them down. It was torture for clients, he knew, as they reviewed his grid and assembled their fantasy scenarios, knowing Arthur might decline.

Today’s client – a Merlin Emrys, young, awkward, sort of pretty – was probably a no, judging by how red he turned as Gwen explained some of the more _nuanced _terms on the menu. _Biological imperative?_ Arthur smirked. The kid would probably check off _clothes sharing_ and think he was being risqué. No thanks.__

 _ _When Emrys left, Gwen handed Arthur the order. _Forced proximity_ , _mirrors_, _chastity devices _, _delayed gratification_ , _possessive behavior_ , _object insertion_ , _beloved enemies_ , _pornography _, _exhibitionism_ , _power imbalance_ , and… _clothes sharing_____.

On second thought, Emrys was definitely in.

*

“So, Emrys… you thought you could get the best of me?” Arthur recited his line with a snarl. Emrys – _I’m Merlin_ , he’d said as he’d held out his hand – grunted as Arthur manhandled him, naked and handcuffed, into the old-fashioned, mirrored elevator and set it to emergency stop.

“Get on your knees.”

Emrys did what he was told. It never failed to amaze Arthur that people would pay thousands of dollars to be ordered around.

“All these years, defying me, keeping secrets…you thought you’d get away with it?” Arthur taunted. He did enjoy playing the comic villain.

Emrys looked up through his eyelashes. “I didn’t think you’d have it in you to retaliate,” Emrys taunted back.

Oh-ho.

Arthur ran his gloved hand down Emrys’ naked torso until he brushed Emrys’ cock, which was already swollen and leaking. Emrys’ eyes darted around the confines of the elevator, the scene reflected back at them in every mirror of the confined chamber. Arthur’s eyes met Emrys’ in one of the reflections, and behind him, Arthur heard the whir of the camera Gwaine installed.

Arthur leaned down to whisper in Emrys’ ear. “You hear that? That’s a camera. My mate is recording this, and then he’s gonna make sure everyone sees you begging for me to fuck you, to _own_ you, begging for me to take the cock ring off, begging me to let you come whilst I keep you on the edge for hours. My sister Morgana’ll edit it. She’ll make sure that every Tom, Dick and Harry watching this is just as desperate to come as you are by the end.”

Emrys’s eyes widened, and he gulped nervously. “I’m not wearing a cock ring,” he pointed out.

Arthur grinned. “Not yet,” he said, as he pulled out what he needed and got to work.

*

Arthur wasn’t sure how much time had passed – an hour, perhaps two, time _did_ fly when making dreams come true–when his mobile rang.

“Pendragon,” Arthur answered. He thumbed off the wicked vibrator he was currently working into Emrys’ arse so he could hear better, and Emrys wailed in disappointment. Arthur wasn’t sure why, considering how agonising it must be to have so much stimulation and no way to actually come – not with Emrys’ cock and balls tied up tight and pretty with Arthur’s red tie.

“I’ll certainly let him know,” Arthur said, then tossed the phone away. “That was our…cinematographer. He just wanted to let you know that it’s an incredible show.”

Emrys looked away, blushing.

“Can’t say I blame him,” Arthur continued, running his gloved hand over the seam of Merlin’s lips, forcing two fingers into his mouth.” You do look incredible like this. I wouldn’t mind keeping you.”

Emrys pulled at his cuffs and for the first time started to show real signs of panic. Arthur rubbed Emrys’ back carefully, and leaned in to whisper gently into his ear. “You know the word to stop this. Do you want to use it?”

Emrys shook his head.

“Good. ” Arthur set the vibrator to its highest setting and fucked it into Emrys until he cried, from stimulation or humiliation or both. Finally, Arthur maneuvered Emrys to face the camera, and after enjoying Emrys’ pleading a bit longer, quickly undid the knots around Emrys’ cock and jacked him in counterpoint to the thrusts of the vibrator. Emrys thrashed as he came, spurting over the mirrored walls and velvet trim and Arthur’s leather gloves until he collapsed, whimpering.

Arthur removed the cuffs and then covered Emrys with this trenchcoat. Emrys shook beneath it, and Arthur brushed a hand through Emrys’ hair. “So. Did I get your order right?”

A slow smile tugged at Emrys’ lips.

Another satisfied customer.

* * *

**#29**

It was either the storm or the angered voice of his father, that woke Arthur. Curious, Arthur slipped out of bed.

“Why did you bring him _here_.” His father gestured to a boy, younger than Arthur, huddled next to Gaius.

“Sire, his mother is dead. You're his _only_ parent left.”

“Very well Gaius, but keep in out of my way.”

Gaius ushered the boy, about four, into the room across from his. Arthur had a little brother.

It soon became clear that their father didn't treat them equally. Arthur tutored under Geoffrey and took his training under his father. Merlin’s sole education was carried out by Gaius. Even his father’s ward, Morgana, had a better education than Urther gave his youngest son.

Arthur wondered if their father would have claimed Merlin, if Arthur didn’t eavesdrop that night.

It was a storm that killed Merlin's mother, Arthur learned the first time Merlin crawled into his bed, to keep the nightmares at bay.

It was during one harsh night, that Merlin, now about eight, cried out, waking Arthur. Rolling over to shake his brother awake, Arthur froze. His boots were floating. Magic! Arthur reached for the small dagger he kept under his pillow, slowly pulling it out as not to alert the witch. Glancing at Merlin's sleeping face Arthur paused at the sight of the burning gold in Merlin's eyes.

Merlin had magic, something Uther would kill him for. Arthur vowed to protect Merlin, even from their own father.

“Come _on Mer_ lin, just like I taught you.” Arthur raised his sword again, signaling he was ready to go.

“Arthur, not _all_ of us were born with a sword in their hand.”

“Which is why you need to work harder. Now try again.”

“What are _you_ doing here?” The washcloth was removed, and Arthur opened his eyes to see Merlin’s hands trembling slightly.

“Looking after Arthur, Father. Sir.” The last came out apologetic. Ten years since Merlin came to Camelot, and Uther still treated him worse than his own ward.

“Gaius is quite capable without your help.”

“But-” Merlin began but was cut off by Arthur’s hoarse voice.

“Gaius has the well being of the castle to look after. It's fine for Merlin to sit by my bedside and tend to my care.”

Trying to put authority in your voice was difficult, when you are naked waist up in your bed, with a hole in your shoulder, but Arthur wasn't going to allow their father to treat Merlin like a unwanted servant.

Plus he still needed to keep Merlin close, and safe.

Later that night, Merlin entertained Arthur with a tale of his latest visit to the dragon, before the both fell asleep.

Arthur didn't like Gwaine. Sure the man was loyal, and a great swordsman. But the man was a flirt, and was entirely too close to Merlin. Arthur saw the lazy smiles, how Gwaine’s touches would linger, or the way he could make Merlin smile.

And every laugh made Arthur to pull the knight away from Merlin, and drive a sword through Gwaine’s throat.

It came to a head one rainy afternoon when the pair came running in. Merlin looked so carefree, even when a thundercloud rolled above them.

Arthur left his chambers, meeting a slopping wet Merlin at his own.

“Hello Arthur, got caught in the rain,” Merlin said walking through the door. Arthur followed, kicking the door shut behind him. “Arthur what are you doing?”

Arthur stepped closer, pushing Merlin up against his bedpost. Threading his fingers through Merlin’s damp hair, Arthur tilted Merlin’s head back, forcing Merlin to look him in the eyes.

“Arthur?”

“What are you doing with Gwaine, Merlin?”

“Nothing Arthur,” Merlin throat bobbed.

“Merlin, he is not a good influence on you.”

Merlin looked confused, “Arthur, We haven't-”

“You've changed. Where's my Merlin that followed me around, worshipping me? Where's my brother I need to protect? I won't let him take you away from me Merlin.”

“No ones taking me away.” Merlin's eyes widen, “What are you doing?”

Arthur made a shushing noise, working Merlin’s breeches loose, “Showing you I can give you everything.” Pulling Merlin’s cock free, Arthur ran his fingers along the shaft. Arthur kissed Merlin’s chapped lips, begging entrance with a few nibbles to Merlin's bottom lip. Working his tongue inside, Arthur delighting in the warmth of Merlin’s mouth.

Every twitch from Merlin felt delightful under Arthur, and when Merlin came Arthur held him close.

“You're forever mine, Merlin.”

* * *

**#30**

“The omegas have elected a Warrior, my Lord.”

Merlin nods, silent. Names are irrelevant. The messenger bows and exits the room.

Merlin watches the sunset. The room is silent; only the slowly shifting lightplay marks the change of time, light saturating, turning darker; pale, orange, blood, then disappears. Night starts to settle. To be the chosen ones, Warlock and Warrior, for the Ritual of Life, it’s a great honour, he’s been told, it’s the miracle of life, the joy of giving. Ancient magic flows through the veins of their world – isn’t it a given that they should infuse it with the young they have to offer? There’s no bloodshed in it, no harm, no pain. Only magic, only… _life_.

Sleep doesn’t come to him that night.

***

It takes a few inhales for the incense to grip his chest like a tight cloth and spread warmth to and through his lower body. His cock throbs; Merlin can suddenly feel the texture of his smalls. He inhales deeper.

***

He is dimly aware of his shroud slipping from him; the soft material caresses his skin and tickles his neck; a whiff of cold air wraps around him like a second skin. The gates close. He’s in a round room covered in mirrors, surrounded by himself, each Merlin naked, each with an ornate mask. When he moves his head all the Merlins turn their heads to look at the gigantic bed on which the Warrior writhes. His strong legs open and close, thighs rub together, his body torn between weak attempts to satisfy itself with its own touch, and invitations for another’s attentions.

Merlin (doesn’t know how he’s reached the bed) spreads the Warrior’s knees and the view of his body takes his breath away.

The Warrior is fit and strong, truly, but he’s not all sinews, muscle, and bones. There’s meat on him, the outlines of his shifting muscles are smooth and even curvy, and all begs to be touched. His hands are taut and tied above his head with a thick rope. Merlin basks in the view of him, from head to leaking cock. A blond fringe. Half-lidded blue eyes. The mask hides everything else.

Merlin plants his hands on the sides of the Warrior’s torso and starts pushing in. Blue eyes flutter shut upon the breach and the Warrior tosses his head back; a muffled moan escapes him. Merlin’s teeth itch to sink into his Adam apple; his tongue feels thick and he needs to stick it out and lick and suck and taste the body beneath him, but he has a mask as well.

He pushes forward and arches his back to thrust deeper, thrust with his hips, harder, to make the obscene noises louder. The Warrior’s legs are on Merlin’s sides, caress him, guide him, pull him closer. His knees bump into Merlin’s elbows and Merlin straightens his arms to raise himself, and thrusts harder.

The Warrior moans and shifts his hips beneath Merlin. They’re forbidden from talking; moans and gestures are their only communication. So they writhe and shift and move together, work together, until the Warrior moans again, and then again, loud and pleading.

Magic, young, virile and fertile, flows through them, connects them, disperses to all the mirrors in which at least a hundred pairs of Warlock and Warrior are copying each and every move and sound in perfect sync. Merlin forgets about everything; all he can feel is their primal connection, how it tunnels something more powerful, something beyond them, and he needs to follow, he thrusts harder, harder harder harder until he reaches a peak and it arches his back and there’s only light, and the ecstasy of magic.

***

He fights and yells but they’re stronger, and they drag him away. Another two are holding Arthur on the bed. Now that Merlin’s mind is clear from the aphrodisiacs he knows what’s wrong – they’ve bonded, and he’ll live the rest of his life with a whispered name – _Arthur_ – to comfort him. He’ll always wake up when his fingers are about to remove the Warrior’s mask.

* * *

**#31**

There's a knock at Arthur's door, and under his desk Merlin whimpers around his mouthful. Arthur reaches down and pets softly at his hair, comfort and warning, and then says, 'Enter.'

'Sir, I have the reports from the northern borders,' says Leon. Merlin squirms. He knows he's hidden by the tablecloth ... theoretically. Arthur's fingers tighten, tugging. Merlin is just supposed to hold Arthur in his mouth, to keep him warm and wet and ready, not to work him to hardness - not to seek pleasure before he's given it.

He shivers with a kind of hunger. He has to be good. He knows he can be good, do what Arthur wants him to.

Merlin barely hears Leon's reporting. Arthur's cock is mostly soft but it's still a mouthful, and he's drooling helplessly around it. But swallowing is against the rules. Leon is still talking. By the time he leaves, Merlin is so hard in his breeches he feels lightheaded.

Arthur puts both hands on Merlin's scalp and massages for a moment. 'I wonder if he knew,' Arthur muses. 'He's trained to spot ambushes before they happen - surely he could hear you breathing down there. Maybe right now he's with the knights, telling them what an attentive servant I have.'

Merlin stifles a moan in his throat. His fingers itch to curl around his own straining cock, but he mustn't. Arthur doesn't want him to.

'That's good,' Arthur croons. He tugs at Merlin's hair, and Merlin reluctantly starts to pull back. 'You'd do whatever I told you to,' Arthur says. It isn't a question, and his voice is heated and smug. He lets up the pressure and Merlin sinks back down, Arthur's cock finally starting to fatten between his sore, puffy lips.

'Because you're mine,' Arthur almost-growls, pulling Merlin off a little harder and then pushing him back down. 'If I wanted to you'd let me fuck you in front of all of them, put you on your back on the council-chamber table and pound you into it while they all watched. Wouldn't you?' he demands, Not giving Merlin time, space or air to respond. It doesn't matter - they both know he's got the right of it. 'You can't say no,' Arthur pants. 'Not to me.'

Arthur is Merlin's king. He could ask anything of Merlin and Merlin would give it. More than that though, Merlin wants this. Merlin needs this. Arthur is fucking his throat with a vengeance now and Merlin is almost floating, drugged docile on the thud of Arthur's cock within him, his own ramped-high desire cresting but not yet ready to break.

'I could call Leon back,' Arthur rasps, grinding Merlin's face into the cradle of his hips. 'You'd perform. Suck me while he watched. You'd get off on it. And if I wanted to I could tell you to please him too.' He draws Merlin back again, gives him a breath he sorely needs, all his blood in his cock and no air in his lungs, hunger in his belly for Arthur's words. 'But I'm a selfish man,' Arthur says, low and hard. 'Kings don't give, they take. And I would not share you, not for anything.'

Merlin's mouth is sloppy and full and he feels wet and thick and fogged, and so, so ready to come, his breeches riding against his cock, fat and sore. He clutches his heels to keep his hands off himself. He has to be good.

'But you'll give me what I want, won't you. You'll give me body, heart, soul -'

Yes, Merlin thinks hazily. Everything.

'Give me control,' purrs Arthur, thrusting deep and holding, deep in Merlin's throat, cutting off his air. 'Come for me, and oh, the world goes purple and glorious and Merlin chokes, feels his spine and his whole world melt hot and golden.

He resurfaces from orgasm to realise his face is wet from more than the tears of overstimulation spiking his eyelashes, that Arthur is coming, coming all over him, and Merlin's own cock gives a final weak twitch in his breeches as he licks a drop of come from the corner of his mouth.

There is a polite cough by the door.

'I'll come back later, then,' says Gwaine.

* * *

**#32**

No one would expect it by looking at him, but Merlin was a deadly footballer. He was fast, agile and could make the most ridiculously unlikely goals. The Ealdor Explosions used him to their advantage: the opposing teams were always startled the first they shook the hand of the seemingly scrawny, often clumsy, captain.

Arthur Pendragon, star player and captain of the Camelot Crusaders, hated Merlin. He knew it was an irrational hatred, stemming from their first meeting where Arthur mistaking Merlin for a benchwarmer, commented that Ealdor must be desperate for talent. During the coin toss, Arthur embarrassingly learnt Merlin was the captain, and later, as Ealdor won the match, he saw first hand why.

Arthur had never been able to swallow his pride. And to make matters worse, Merlin was the nicest bloke Arthur ever had the misfortune of meeting. So, yeah. Arthur hated him. Which explained why he was currently glaring down at his agent.

“It’s for charity, Arthur,” Leon explained, as if Arthur was a bit slow.

“I don’t care. Pair me with someone else,” Arthur snapped.

“It’s three weeks. You’ll survive.”

“But I hate that guy,” Arthur said in a tone that sounded suspiciously like a pout.

Leon snorted and switched his attention back his paperwork. “Get over it.”

…

Arthur had no idea who came up with the premise of the TV special, but they would be traveling around the UK, heading up charity football games, and living together: Captain vs Captain.

He glared at Merlin as the other man pulled his suitcase into their shared hotel room with a huge grin across his face. Of course Merlin would think this was fun.

It was going to be three long weeks.

…

Merlin team of celebrities and special guests won the first match. On their way off the pitch Arthur shoved him and snarled, “You’re damn lucky I don’t just break your leg,” which seemed somewhat random, but Arthur felt that his point was made as he stalked off.

After Merlin’s team won the second match, Arthur threw Merlin against the wall and held him there with his forearm. “Back the fuck off,” he gritted. Merlin looked confused, but said nothing as Arthur released his grip and stomped away.

When Arthur’s team won the third match, Merlin jumped into the celebrating bodies as if his team hadn’t just lost. He ruffled Arthur’s hair and gave him a slap on the back. Arthur just stood there in the middle of the celebrating crowd, confused and wrong footed.

Arthur avoided Merlin, sneaking off the field while Merlin’s team celebrated their next win. He wasn’t sure he could resist punching Merlin in the face in front of crowds and cameras. He stood in the shower cubicle, angry and annoyed and looked down to realize that he was achingly hard.

“Fuck,” he spat, and punched the wall.

…

When Arthur returned to their hotel room, he found Merlin showered and picking at some room service. Arthur stomped across the room, and Merlin stood up, backing against the wall as he took in Arthurs radiating anger.

“Why do you make me so bloody angry?” He snarled, crowding into Merlin’s space.

“I… um…” Merlin started.

“You’re so damn infuriating, you know that?” Arthur said between biting kisses. “You drive me insane.”

Arthur pulled at Merlin’s clothes, biting down on his neck, leaving a series of livid red marks across pale skin. Arthur spun Merlin around, pressing him down across the hotel desk, eyes locking in the mirror on the wall. Arthur’s pulse sped up as he took in the flushed, desperate look on Merlin’s face.

Merlin moaned and spread his legs as Arthur roughly pulled down his track bottoms. He arched his back, capturing Arthur’s lips in his own as Arthur’s fingers breached him, spreading and stretching him slowly. When Arthur finally pushed into Merlin, he felt all the frustration and anger fade away. Merlin met Arthur thrust for thrust, eyes never leaving Arthur’s in the mirror, not even when they both came and Arthur collapsed against his back in a sweaty mess.

Later, when they both lay exhausted on their own beds, Merlin rolled to one side and commented, “If this is what I get every time I beat your team, I just might make it all the way to the World Cup.”

Arthur snorted in the dark. “I still hate you.”

“I know,” Merlin said, but Arthur could hear the grin in his voice. “I know.”

* * *

**#33**

Leon is having a bad day. Training is grueling, for one thing, and Leon arrives at the tavern that night sore and dusty and thirsty for stronger wine than is strictly available.

But the real problem is: Lancelot is slouching wearily at a corner table. He is wearing Leon’s shirt.

Leon know it’s his shirt, because of the gold embroidery on the collar, needled there by Leon’s own mother. It’s an accident, to be sure. They were all tripping over each other, in the armory, too tired to clean themselves properly. Lancelot surely just donned the first shirt he saw. Leon wonders idly whose shirt he is wearing.

The man is _stupidly_ beautiful, even tired from practice. He’d poured water over his head, Leon could tell, because his hair was still wet and sticking to his neck. Whereas Leon is sort of gangly—when he looks down at himself naked, his limbs are bony and awkward, as if his Creator had haphazardly attached them at the last moment. And his beard is scruffy, and his hair is some dirty, vaguely ginger color. But Lancelot. Lancelot looks like he was sculpted; his muscles all gracefully flowing into one another, his skin smooth, his hair a shiny, deep brown. Leon has seen practically everyone look at Lancelot with appreciation. Gwaine and Merlin and Elyan, and hell, even….the King and Queen.

Leon drops into the seat opposite Lancelot, already half drunk.

“Haven’t you got a bedmate somewhere to keep you company?” he says impulsively

Lancelot casts a surprised glance his way. “Me?”

“Course you. Everyone likes you.”

Lancelot snorts softly at that, and lifts his cup again, sips. “I am blessed with many friends,” he says eventually. It sounds bitter.

“What about Merlin?” he asked blankly, for Lancelot and Merlin were always thick as thieves, whispering, their heads bent close. “I thought you and he—”

Lancelot gives a curt shake of his head. “Merlin has…too many concerns of his own, and anyhow, I…”

He looks off into the middle distance, his face all transparent longing, before catching Leon’s gaze and shaking it off with a thin smile.

“I have been unlucky in love,” he says simply, which sounds like a vast understatement.

And Lancelot looks so _sad_ , and Leon is so _drunk_ , and the damp ends of Lancelot’s hair curl up like invitations, and Lancelot is _wearing Leon’s shirt_ , and Leon says,

“You could have me?” a bit like a question, in the end, because his brain catches up with his mouth and turns the whole stupid proposal into a squeak. He clears his throat. “Er. That is—”

“Yes?” Lancelot’s eyes are suddenly very, very focused. Leon has to blink a few times to lessen the eye contact. While he panics and searches for something to say, he realizes that Lancelot’s breathing faster. Lancelot looks interested.

Leon finds his courage: “Ah. Then, we could. I mean. Come…come with me.” Leon stands up, abruptly, his head swimming, and Lancelot _follows_ , still lithe in spite of the drink.

They wind through the tables and the people, out the back door, into the dark shadows behind the tavern, and Leon feels almost dizzy with the fact that Lancelot is still following him.

Leon comes to a stop under a darkened eave, and Lancelot circles him, puts his back to the wall, and waits. It’s so dark, Leon cannot tell his expression. The shining thread on the shirt collar picks up the light when he shifts on his feet.

“You did mean…” Lancelot says uncertainly, after a long moment, and Leon steps up and kisses him, and well. He did not expect this. He did not expect Lancelot to tremble and moan at the first touch of lips, and it makes Leon so eager that he drops to his knees to get at Lancelot’s laces.

“Please,” Lancelot whispers. “No one’s touched me in so long, I—” Which is _preposterous_ , so Leon sucks him down, plies his tongue against the underside of Lancelot’s cock. The world has committed a grievous sin in not volunteering to spread their legs en masse for Sir Lancelot, and Leon intends to redress this wrong. With cock sucking. Which seems less than the romance he deserves, but it’s a start.

Leon throws himself into it, bobbing his head, using his hands and lips and tongue, _goddamn this impossibly perfect man_ , because even his come tastes good.

Lancelot looks down at him, panting and grateful and wearing Leon’s mother’s embroidery, and Leon decides the shirt is his.

* * *

**#34**

He looks like summer—like days that last forever, playing outside and getting gravel worked so deep in your wounds you think you'll be leaving trails of tar-black sand behind you for weeks. He smells like summer, too, like sweat and grass, chlorine and your American grandmother's sweet tea, lemon wedge and all.

If Merlin is summer, then you're autumn, starting to turn, your leaves changing colour, changing texture, days growing colder, shorter, but the sharp scent of cider makes you a little bit perfect. You make people want to bring the smell of bonfires in on their manky old hoodies, to fuck on the living room floor with the telly on low and the heat on high, to drink tea in bed under several duvets with the windows thrown wide open.

More importantly, you make _Merlin_ want these things. You slow him down for a spell, just long enough to spread wide for you, show off the pieces of youth you miss (the smooth, hot skin; the fine, lean muscle; the impressive stretch of resiliency) while you make him come and come and _come_ , more than you ever could, even at his age.

 

The first time, Merlin came in his pants, squirming and quiet. You were sitting close, shoulder pressed firmly against his back. One hand resting on the bench behind him, your thumb brushed his jeans every time you reached across to show him something on the computer screen. The friction of natural movement, the heat of you through your basic white button-up got him hard, got him _off_.

He stopped breathing. You saw the wild, needy look in his eyes, pressed your palm flat against the small of his back. His hips surged just once, his mouth an open vacuum that drew in your gasp, your light, everything that made you a person who didn’t fuck your students. In one small moment, he changed you. The damp spot on his jeans lit you up with need, and you stopped being yourself. You were his, completely, and you will never belong to anyone else this way.

He wanted to blow you, his eyes wet with the force of his orgasm, and probably a bit of shame. He came again with his mouth around your dick, right there in the computer lab, the aircon on high, making your leg hair stand out straight.

When you didn’t come before his jaw ached, he almost cried, stammering apologies, red-faced and curled around himself. You shoved him flat on his back, pushed his shirt up past his nipples, kissed him hard and deep until he was writhing against you, his jeans chafing rough against your bare cock.

You got him naked from armpits to knees, fisting your hand in his hair and making him watch your cock sliding against his.

“I want you to come in my mouth,” Merlin begged, his tongue sliding wet between your fingers. Instead you smeared his saliva all over his chin just to make a mess of him.

His legs were pliant and easy when you pushed them back, and he watched with blown-black eyes as you pressed the head of your cock to his hole. Just touching him there had his dick dribbling out the last bit of come left in him. You had dried him out, and the thought of using up this eager boy had your cock twitching against him, strong squirts of come slipping over Merlin’s virgin hole, making him dirty, making him _yours_.

 

You let Merlin fuck you. You _beg_ him to fuck you, open yourself up while he watches. He’s terrified, thinks he’ll do it wrong and break the spell, make you remember that he’s only sixteen, that he’s your student—that he will leave you someday.

That’s why you need this.

He’s careful with you, tender. He lies between your thighs and kisses you and _kisses you_ , through two of his own quiet orgasms, until he gets you there, lays kisses across your neck and shoulders.

Your orgasm is a tide, easy and gentle and cresting, and he looks at your eyes, touches your face, sunk in you so deep you think he _is_ you.

“Arthur,” he says. You lean up for a needy kiss, and he is flush against you, holds nothing back.

“I love you,” he says against your lips, and you let out a sob. “I love you,” he repeats, again and again.

You believe him.

You believe him, and it makes you hate yourself.

* * *

**#35**

It started with the red hat.

Arthur had been inordinately pleased by how ridiculous Merlin looked, and by knowing that that he could make Merlin wear whatever he wanted.

Things escalated from there.

 

 

*****

By the time they were lovers, Arthur was deeply involved in what Merlin wore. He began by making suggestions (“the red scarf today, not the blue one”) and went from there to him ordering Merlin to wear clothes that belonged to Arthur.

“Arthur, your tunic is way too big for me, and the fabric is too fine for a servant. Everyone will think we’re sleeping together.”

“We are sleeping together,” Arthur observed calmly.

“Yes, but does the whole world have to know that?”

Arthur didn’t answer, just smiled and ruffled Merlin’s hair as he went out for training.

 

 

*****

Merlin had to wear Arthur’s clothes several days a week after that, and one morning he woke up to find that all of his underwear was gone, replaced with new ones made of the finest silk.

“I want you to think of me when the silk rubs against these,” Arthur murmured, cupping Merlin’s balls and squeezing gently.

“Oh, I’ll think of you, you tyrant,” Merlin answered, knowing that he the soft fabric would keep him aroused and edgy all day.

 

 

*****

Soon it wasn’t enough for Arthur to have Merlin sharing his clothes and wearing underwear prettier than Morgana’s. He started marking Merlin in other ways.

He would suck love bites into Merlin’s neck on banquet days, and laugh at Merlin’s attempts to cover them with his kerchief.

“Arthur,” Merlin hissed. “Everyone will know! _Your father_ will know.”

Arthur’s eyes went dark and his mouth was set in a fierce line, as if he were in combat. “Good. I want him to know.”

 

 

*****

One morning during sex Arthur pulled out just before he came, taking his prick in his hand and painting Merlin’s face and collarbones. When Merlin tried to clean it up, Arthur said tenderly, “Let me.”

He picked up the cloth and cleaned Merlin, but he left some, massaging the sticky fluid into Merlin’s throat and behind his ears.

“Don’t wash,” he ordered, his tone stern.

Merlin spluttered. “But… but… I’ll smell like you all day! It will be obvious that I just left your bed!”

“You’re finally getting the point, _Mer >-lin.” _

That day, Lance tactfully offered Merlin the use of the knight’s bath “any evening you want, really, we’re happy to share.”

The rest of the knights, the louts, hid grins every time they came near Merlin.

Gwaine was the worst, naturally.

 

 

*****

Arthur proudly showed Merlin a toy one spring morning. It looked like the wooden dummies the women used to soothe crying infants, but it was longer and bigger around, and made out of smooth iron. It even had a filigree design around the base.

“I had Tom make it for you,” Arthur smirked.

“You went to Tom for _that?_ Merlin said in a scandalized tone, blushing bright red. “What did you tell him it was for?”

“Don’t worry, I told him there was a baby in the castle with an unusually big mouth.” Arthur deftly turned Merlin around and pushed him over the table where they had just eaten, pulling down Merlin’s trousers. Merlin was spluttering again, but Arthur stuck the plug in Merlin’s mouth and said, “Get it wet!” before taking it out and jamming it into his ass.

It felt wonderful, and Merlin walked around with a hitch in his step and a bulge in his pants. No matter how much he tugged down his tunic, everyone knew that Arthur was fucking him by proxy all day long.

 

 

*****

Merlin finally asked Arthur why he was so possessive. “You know I’m yours, why do you have to prove it all the time?”

Arthur sighed heavily. “Let’s imagine that you are a prince with a manservant who you cherish above all things. And let’s imagine that the manservant is constantly doing stupid things in public, like lighting fires with sodden wood or making horses out of smoke for his own entertainment. If you wanted the manservant to keep his pretty head on his neck, wouldn’t it be a good idea to make it clear that he was more than a servant, that he belonged to you? So that people would think twice before accusing him of sorcery?”

“Oh.”

“Oh,” Arthur mocked. “Now go to sleep, little bird. Tomorrow’s another day, and I had Tom make a special surprise for you.”

* * *

**#36**

Merlin tapped on his desk. His blunt fingernails sent pings around the silent room.

He couldn’t believe he’d actually done it.

A ridiculous amount of replies blinked on his dash, each a response to his post.

_**SoStrechyItsMagic:** New to this. If you have a kink for a twink who can take just about anything, I’m your guy. ;) **Reply here.**_

Merlin accepted a few users, and made about $300. Just as he was about to start he clicked on a message from _**Dragon**_.

It offered $500.

Merlin blinked . . . twice, and smiled a predatory smile at the screen.

\--

Merlin flourished. Like a beautiful flower that was made of money. Within three weeks, Merlin had regulars, and had made enough for the next three months’ rent. Life was good.

Plus, he got off hard quite a bit, too.

Actually, life was great.

\--

When he signed on this time, Merlin was horny. He’d planned on taking a few request, but as he read through them he stopped short.

Dragon, who was Merlin’s best costumer, had actually written to him. Since that first night, Dragon hadn’t missed one of Merlin’s shows, but he’d never sent Merlin a request.

Unlike the others, Dragon’s payment continued to increase every show even though he’d never asked Merlin to do anything.

But it’s not like, Merlin was blushing over some unknown creepy guy who was perving his porn or something. No. Merlin was just . . . he found himself a bit interested was all.

Dragon had apparently broke the silent streak. He wrote wanting to know if Merlin would do a private show sometime.

Merlin had always turned those request done in the past, but he couldn’t bring himself to decline this one.

And if Merlin came a bit too fast and ridiculously hard that night it wasn’t because he’d set it up a session with Dragon the next evening. He was already horny before. Yeah.

\--

Merlin was late the next evening, but only by several minutes. When he got on though, Dragon wasn’t on yet either. Merlin tapped on the desk, and absently waited for . . . something.

Just as he’d started to contemplate signing off, a ping alerted him to Dragon’s arrival.

_Thanks for waiting._

\--

 _Such manners_ , Merlin thought as he bit back a moan. _The brilliant arsehole._

They were on their sixth private show, and Merlin hadn’t a clue what he was doing. He was buried to his neck in **_Dragon_**.

It started off simple enough, Merlin supposed. With Dragon typing and Merlin preforming sexual acts for money. But . . . things quickly changed.

Dragon told Merlin what to do. The prat was very demanding, and Merlin loathed to admit it, but he quite enjoyed it. Especially when the demands felt this fucking good.

Merlin slowly sank down on one of his bigger dildos. He had to go slowly, because he was on the brink of cuming already. Somewhere along the line, Dragon started adding in a new toy each session. The last three times he’d made Merlin wear a plug for nearly half an hour. The past two times Merlin didn’t even touch his cock for the full thirty minutes. Just his nipples.

Merlin hadn’t clue, but he knew that he’d never been so turned on in his whole life. He didn’t think he could stop now even if he wanted too.

A ping had Merlin eying the screen.

_Faster._

_;)_

Merlin did as he was told.

\--

Two months later and all Merlin figured out was that it wasn’t stopping. Some weeks were slow, others they would get in four sessions.

Ideally.

Merlin thought about this as he waited in line at the coffee shop. As he got out of line to wait a body suddenly slammed into him.

Merlin and the stranger looked at each other at the same time. Merlin swallowed and tried to find a charming smile for the fit blond bloke. He knew it was probably useless but it never hurt to try.

The man however, gaped at Merlin before he blinked furiously. His eyes narrowed suspiciously for a moment.

Then he blushed and stammered out, “um. Yes. Sorry. Coffee?”

\--

And for the rest of their lives, if anyone ever asked them how they met, well . . . a coffee shop made for a great cover story.

People didn’t tend to question love at first sight.

* * *

**#37**

Merlin propped his cast on the table in front of the fire. A week skiing with his roommate and best friend Arthur and the rest of his mates sounded like a good idea, but the reality of a cracked shin and forced ensconcement by the fireplace wasn’t his idea of a good time. And his leg hurt.

His mates crashed through the front door, laughing and red-cheeked from exertion and the cold. Merlin grimaced; he really wasn’t in the mood. He took one of the pain killers he had been prescribed and shrank further back into his seat.

****

He’d refused much dinner, only eating a little of the soup Percy brought him. He took another painkiller, resigned to the carousing going on around him.

Finally, the clock rolled around to midnight, and Merlin felt he could go to bed. He took another painkiller and stood up. He felt light-headed, and kind of drunk. Must be the painkillers. Arthur jumped up and caught his arm as he went down.

“Whoa! How many of these have you taken?”

“Three, since about 4,” Merlin said.

Arthur retrieved the bottle. “Says you are supposed to take 1-2 every 8 hours, so you’re ok there,” he said. “You’re just a lightweight.”

Merlin felt a little giddy. “Shut up, clotpole,” he said, attempting to stand again. He reeled, and since he was wearing a cast, he almost fell again. Arthur caught him, and Merlin put both arms around his neck.

Arthur laughed. “Let’s get you to bed, you great blouse.”

****

Once in their room, Arthur helped Merlin to bed. Merlin kept his arms locked around Arthur, and pulled him down into the bed with him.

“Alright then, Merlin, let go.”

“No.”

“Merlin,” he said, without any response. Arthur sighed. “You’re clearly off your head, but I’ll stay.”

****

Merlin awoke slowly, aware of a throbbing in his leg, his head, and…his groin?

Someone’s hand….

He looked over his shoulder. Familiar blond hair…

Fuckety fuck, how did Arthur end up in his bed?

Merlin lay there, trying to figure out how to extricate himself and to recall what the hell happened the night before. He vaguely recalled deciding to go to bed… Arthur helping him…

Shit. He’d dragged the object of all his fantasies into his bed.

Now, said fantasy star had his hand wrapped around Merlin’s cock, which had taken a very active interest in the proceedings. Merlin shifted his hips back to dislodge the hand, but met Arthur’s hips instead. Arthur’s hand tightened, and his hips stuttered against Merlin’s arse.

Arthur was hard, too.

Merlin groaned aloud.

“Shhh,” Arthur whispered into his ear. “D’you want everyone to hear?”

“Arthur, what…”

“Finally have you where I want you, and you can’t tell me you don’t want me,” Arthur said, punctuating his statement with a squeeze. Merlin hitched his hips into Arthur’s hand, while Arthur’s dick rubbed into the cleft of Merlin’s arse.

“Fuck me,” Merlin moaned softly, rutting into Arthur’s relentless grip.

“That’s rather the idea,” Arthur purred in his Oxbridge accent. “Or you can fuck me, I’m open,” he added, letting go of Merlin’s cock and pushing him onto his back.

It didn’t feel like a first kiss. It felt like coming home after a long holiday, and Arthur moaned into Merlin’s mouth.

“Let me suck you off.”

“Yeah,” Merlin said. “Yeah, Arthur, suck my cock.”

Arthur did, and Merlin couldn’t keep quiet. Arthur’s hand cupped Merlin’s balls, and he worked a lubed finger into Merlin’s arse. All too quickly, Merlin was cumming down Arthur’s throat, begging to be fucked.

Arthur complied, rolling a condom on quickly and sliding slowly into Merlin until he bottomed out.

“Fuck, your arse, Merlin, God, how long I’ve wanted to do this,” he said. “I can’t even.”

“Yeah, Arthur yeah. Fuck me.”

“You’re mine,” Arthur said.

“Yeah,” Merlin agreed.

“Want you to fuck me too,” Arthur said.

“Yeah, anything just,” Merlin broke off, as Arthur hit his prostate. “Ahhh, AHHH, yeah!”

“Going to cum,” Arthur said, and did, pumping into Merlin. “Fuck, Merlin,” he said, sweeping Merlin’s hair back off his forehead.

“Fuck, Arthur,” Merlin said, leaning up to kiss him. “We get to do this again, right?”

“Often as you want, back home. We can make your room an office and you can move into mine.”

“Moving a little fast, aren’t you?

“We’ve been a couple all but sexually for three or four years, Merlin. I’d say we’ve gone pretty fucking slow until now, wouldn’t you?

* * *

**#38**

Recognition.

Gwaine never expected it. There were so many tribes spilling out over the five great lands, so many lives lost through skirmish or illness as the healers dwindled in number. Most people lived their whole lives with lovemates and lifemates of their own choosing, giving their soulnames to those dearest, not to strangers in the shock of a first glance.

He went to his tribe's junior healer and said, "Fix this."

Merlin looked at him sadly and shook his head.

 

 

***

She sent her messenger, a crow with a voice like stone on stone. It cocked its head in the windowsill of his hut and called him to the sacred grove, at dusk, alone.

He fretted for hours, played dice with Percival and asked Elyan to let him pump the bellows at the forge to burn off this restless energy, the forge no hotter than his body's needs. But...

 _Lefay_ , his soul whispered. In the distance he felt the fluttering of crow's wings.

As the sun went down, he left.

 

 

***

The grove was cool and twilit, washed a soft lavendar. Animals rustled in the underbrush, but the small clearing was empty but for the faint gleam of doe eyes between the trees, watchful.

She stepped out of the shadows, her gown trailing blue midnight. She was beautiful, deadly, the junior queen of his enemies, now. He should strike her down, or wound her as a warning to the priestesses not to take sides among the tribefolk.

He reached for her instead.

The brush of their fingertips unleashed a roar like a mighty waterfall in his mind. His lifetime, her lifetime, rushing together in a torrent that spilled over the edge of everything he knew.

 _Walwen_ she sent, her mind-voice like bells. But behind the musical grace, he heard reluctance, even fear.

She had as much to lose as he did.

With that flash of empathy, his fingers tightened in hers. _I will not harm you._

She laughed silently. _As if you could._ She shared an image of her young dragon lying watchful in the woods behind him. But there was also an easing of the frost in her mind-voice.

Not fear of harm, then, but of rejection.

Breathing deep, he drew upon the memories given him by Arthur, Gwen - even Merlin - of a younger and more playful Morgana, before she chose the priestesses. Of the hardness in Uther's heart caused by the death of his lifemate. He could see the echoes of old fears inside her when he offered a glimpse of Uther's scowling face.

Well, he was Arthur's man, not Uther's. He let her feel that.

They warmed to each other slowly, the mental landscape between them shifting and uncertain. Gwaine lost himself in learning the contrasting heat and cool, the keenness of her mind and memories.

He woke to himself sometime later, stars bright overhead and them lying in the grass, his head pillowed on her chest. Grinning ruefully, he leaned up on one elbow and tucked her hair behind her ear.

"I won't change," he admitted. "I'm a hothead, drinker, and flirt. Probably a bad match for you."

She watched him with her strangely clear eyes, like she could see straight through him (she could).

_We'll see._

Her fingers twined behind his head and pulled him down to her. The press of her cool lips was soft at first, chased by a sharp nip. He laughed into her mouth, delighted as his body stirred again.

She rolled them over (he knew she would) and pressed his arms into the grass, pinning him with an imperious glare. _Stay._

He shuddered full-body, feeling her slippery dress slide against his skin as she opened his tunic, unlaced his breeches, bared him to the sky and to her long-nailed fingers. He was panting by the time she leaned back over him, a twinkle in her eye.

 _Shall I?_ she asked, though he saw the flush on her neck and knew she wanted this, too.

 _Please, please,_ he gave her, like an offering. She took it, rose up and sank down on him in one smooth motion, whiting out his mind with the sheer pleasure of touching her.

 _Mine,_ she sent fiercely, masks stripping away as she rode him into the prickling grass. "Mine."

It was the first time he'd ever heard her speak aloud.

"Yours," he gasped, throwing his whole heart into the word and damning the consequences.

* * *

**#39**

It’s snowing when he finds him, the chill of winter biting even through his coat.

Kneeling in a puddle of half-melted snow, his hands and ankles tied to a stake, he looks up at Arthur defiantly, even though he’s swaying with exhaustion, his whole body shaking.

“Here to finish the job?” he asks, coughing. If it wasn’t for the rope around his wrists he’d fall to the cold ground.

><><

The villagers won’t let them stay.

“Take the devil with you!” they yell. “He’s the one who brought this on us!”

The winter has been long and people started looking for someone to blame. This young man isn’t the first victim of people’s fear. Probably won’t be the last.

Wrapped in Arthur’s cloak, he doesn’t raise his gaze from the ground, unable to look at the angry faces of his former neighbours, people he thought were his friends.

Arthur doesn’t know who tosses the first stone, only hears the sharp cry as it hits the man’s leg. He’s ready to step in, reveal his identity, but then the next rock stops right in front of the man’s head, hovering there while his irises shine bright gold.

“I helped you! Day after day I made your crops grow stronger, cured you and your children from diseases that would bring only death to your door, never asking for anything in return. And this is your thank you? Letting me freeze to death? Throw stones at me?” He pauses, breathing heavy. “I could burn this whole village to the ground! I could kill you with a snap of my fingers! But you know what? I won’t do it! I’m not a monster. You are!” he yells.

He lets the rock fall to the ground, turns towards Arthur.

“You can take me back to your king now,” he says, lifts his head to meet Arthur’s gaze. “If you could ask him to choose beheading instead of pyre, I’d be very grateful.”

All the power coursing through his body and he’s surrendering to Arthur? Why? The initial shock is slowly subsiding and Arthur feels something else settling deep inside him. He wants to know more about this stranger.

“What’s your name?” he asks.

The man looks surprised, but answers.

><><

Arthur wants to erase the haunted look from Merlin’s face. He’s been Arthur’s manservant for eight months and saved his life many times since. He knows Arthur knows, but they never speak of it. Magic is banned after all.

Still, Arthur wants to erase the haunted look from Merlin’s face.

><><

The fire doesn’t give enough warmth to stop their shivering. The blizzard caught them unprepared, forced them to seek shelter in the shallow cave they stumbled upon as they trudged through the woods.

Merlin’s fingers are red from the cold as he pushes them closer and closer to the flames.

“You’ll only burn yourself this way,” Arthur says and pulls off his own gloves. Merlin protests at first, but eventually gives in, sighing as the bit of warmth envelops his hands.

“Thank you,” Merlin whispers and locks his gaze with Arthur’s. He’s not thanking for the gloves.

His expression is open, earnest, a bit of hope finding its way in. It stirs that secret feeling in Arthur’s heart, makes him braver. They share their first kiss, lips blue from cold.

><><

Merlin’s feet are cold when he climbs into their bed, pressing them to Arthur’s calves. Merlin’s everything seems to be cold as Arthur slowly wakes up to his consort’s attempts at using him as his personal bed warmer.

“What took you so long?” he grumbles, but takes Merlin’s hand and starts rubbing warmth into it.

“Too many are ill in the lower town.”

That explains the frozen limbs. Merlin got better at keeping himself warm, but exhaustion always turns him into an ice cube.

Arthur turns around, slots his thigh in between Merlin’s legs and pulls him flush to his body. Merlin wraps around him and gasps when Arthur starts rubbing his thigh against Merlin’s groin. He’s rocking his hips to meet Arthur’s movements in no time, letting out small cut-off moans. It won’t take much now.

He rolls Merlin on his back and grinds harder, chasing his own release as the new position grants him more friction. Merlin’s fingers dig deeper into his back and he stops breathing for a second, his whole body taunt as his orgasm overwhelms him. Arthur comes a moment later, Merlin’s fingers combing through his hair.

And no one is cold anymore.

>

* * *

**#40**

The new slave is inadequate.

Arthur wants to never stop fucking him.

“What’s your name?” he says, nuzzling behind his ear where damp, dark hair curls. The slave smells good, like perfume and come. Arthur tightens his arms around the shuddering body, still twitching from orgasm, sticky fingers splayed over the flat stomach.

“Mer—Merlin.”

“Well, Merlin. That was quite fast, wasn’t it? We’ll have to work on that.” He traces a finger along the softening length of Merlin’s cock and smiles at his whimper, then brings his hand up for Merlin to suck at his own mess. “Rule number one: unless he orders you differently, King Uther must always come first.”

Merlin’s pale chest is red and splotchy. He squirms in Arthur’s grip.

“I’m sorry, Sire. I don’t—”

“Shhh, it’s okay. That’s why you’re with me, see? We’ll get you there.”

They don’t.

Merlin is sensitive _everywhere_.

He gets hard and leaking before Arthur has even touched his cock. He shivers and moans at every brush of Arthur’s hands, and can’t help rubbing his dick on anything he can, like an overeager pup, as Arthur kisses him, makes him ride his cock, fucks him from behind. Arthur ties him up just to see how long it’ll take for Merlin to come untouched while Arthur licks and mouths at his balls, or fingers him open and wet, or spanks him into a red, crying mess.

It takes no time at all.

It’s the most beautiful thing Arthur’s ever seen.

Arthur’s father likes his slaves well trained and efficient. Likes them to last for hours, to know every way there is to suck a cock, to fuck and get fucked. Likes them to be good at it.

Arthur likes them new and sloppy. Likes to be the one to show them how to take a cock in their arses or cunts, hold their hips and guide them. Likes to get his mouth on them to demonstrate, to teach. He relishes their shy smiles and embarrassed blushes, the way their bodies jerk and shiver, the way they moan and writhe and cry out in surprise before they’ve learned how to control themselves, how to fake it.

Merlin doesn’t learn.

Arthur drags him into his lap, back to chest, and opens Merlin’s legs with his knees. He tips Merlin’s head back on his shoulder with a hand on his throat without squeezing—just there, feeling the way he swallows, the vibrations of his whimpers, the rabbit-skitter of his heartbeat.

“We’re going to take this slow,” Arthur says as he runs his other hand over Merlin’s chest, a sheen of sweat breaking over his skin. Arthur flicks at Merlin’s nipples and smiles in the crook of his neck when Merlin jolts and thrusts his hips out. Arthur spreads his legs wider.

He skims Merlin’s hard cock with his fingertips and Merlin twitches and moans in his arms—always so responsive, so eager to please—and Arthur muffles a groan against Merlin’s throat, takes a deep breath to stop himself from throwing Merlin face down on the bed and fuck into him in a long, hot glide.

Instead, he grabs Merlin’s cock in a tight fist and tugs—once, twice—rubs the palm of his hand over the leaking head. He takes a second to taste the wetness on his skin, the saltiness of Merlin so good on his tongue.

“Sire, I—I’m—” Merlin thrusts into Arthur’s fist and Arthur knows he’s close to coming, the beautiful red of his shame and pleasure spreading over his pale skin.

 

Arthur gets a punishing grip on Merlin’s cock, letting him thrash desperately into his hold, orgasm flaring under his skin without release. Arthur waits until he’s calmed down, panting wet and loud as he turns his head to lick at Arthur’s face like he can’t bear to have nothing filling his mouth.

“Sire,” he says, hoarse and broken. “Again.”

So Arthur does it again. And again.

On the fifth try Merlin stops Arthur, fingers on his wrist, and comes—comes for what feels like forever with a raw sound of relief, pleasure and pain ripped from his throat that nearly makes Arthur come with him.

“You’re the worst slave I’ve ever had,” he says, delighted at Merlin’s impudence. His cock is so stiff between Merlin’s cheeks, rubbed tight and warm. He holds Merlin to his chest, drags his lips over Merlin’s jaw to lick at the corner of his opened mouth. “I’m keeping you.”

* * *

**#41**

There's something lovely about the way Arthur squirms, his hips jerking up, needy, his eyes fluttering closed - that just does things to her. Makes her want to tease him, hold him down, rub her arse over his cock, see his muscles jump as he strains against her, have him naked and vulnerable while she's still dressed.

Gwen always thought she liked pale, lithe boys until she met Arthur, with his arrogant grin and serious eyes. Having all that strength held in check makes her hot like nothing else. She loves him when he's desperate to fuck too, when he comes up from licking her, mouth wet and sticky, hair tousled, smirking like he's won the lotto, cock hard against her belly.

"Not yet," Gwen pants, when he tries to slide between her thighs. She tangles their legs together, keeps him close.

"You sure?" Arthur asks, butterfly-kissing her neck until she bats him away.

"Positive. I want to do terrible things to you first," Gwen admits.

"Ohh," Arthur closes his eyes. "I suppose I can't say no to that." He can, of course, but Arthur likes to pretend otherwise.

When she presses her thumb over the tip of his cock, he twitches. Gwen licks her hand and does it again, dragging it over the spot under the head. He kisses her, open and breathy, when he comes, hips stuttering as Gwen milks the fluid from him.

It gives her ideas.

She's done it before, just not with Arthur. But she knows the idea excites him. She really wants to see how he'll take it.

* * *

Washing her hands and assembling her tools, alcohol wipes, lube, and surgical gloves centers her and brings her arousal down to a simmer. The metal rods are sanitized but she wipes them again. There's a plug as well, shorter but wider than the sounds.

Arthur hums happily when she pulls his arms up and handcuffs his wrists to the headboard. Gwen thinks he's more awake than he's letting on.

"What're you up to?" Arthur cracks one eye open. Gwen's sitting cross-legged next to him. "You have that evil smile on," he raises his head, looking her over, "and nothing else." Gwen giggles.

"I want to try something," she says.

Arthur raises an eyebrow. "Is it going to hurt?" Gwen shakes her head.

"It shouldn't. Not if I do it right."

Arthur catches sight of the sounds and his eyes widen. "Ohhh." He gulps. "Er, carry on."

* * *

Gwen traces the flush on Arthur's chest with her fingertips. He shivers, muscles tightening and releasing, breath bursting out of him when she runs her hand over his taut stomach. He's so relaxed, so trusting, her heart clenches.

It's good that he's soft, makes it easier. Arthur whimpers when she peels back his foreskin and smears lube around the slit. Gwen presses her legs together.

When she places the sound against his urethra, Arthur's dick practically swallows it up, it goes in that easy. He moans, his legs shaking. Gwen is torn between watching his face and watching the slim piece of metal slide home. She controls the angle, the speed. About an inch, then she gently rocks it back. Arthur's mouth is slack, panting. He clenches up as it comes out, like he's trying to keep it inside, and moans, surprising them both with how loud he is.

Gwen applies more lube to the sound and lets it slide back down, deeper this time.

"How does it feel?" She's rubbing his thigh. When he tries to press up into it, she straddles him.

"I don't know," Arthur's face is wondering, open. "Intense. Totally different."

"Hurts?"

"No," Arthur shakes his head, hips hunching. Gwen takes her hands away and just watches, as Arthur's muscles press the sound up, up, forcing it out. Then he collapses and it slides back in. His cock is hardening, the head red and bulbous.

"God, I could just leave you like this," she says. "Let you ride it."

Arthur keens. "Don't, don't leave me--"

"I won't," she shushes him, leans over to kiss him, stroke the sweat on his forehead away. "Shh. I won't."

* * *

The gem on the head of the plug is so pretty glittering at the tip of his cock. When she slides onto him, it presses right against her G-spot. Arthur's brow pinches.

"Arthur," she groans, clenching around him, "Oh, love."

He's almost weeping when she finally draws the plug out, a trickle of come wetting her hand.

* * *

**#42**

The crowd was deafening and Arthur frowned; gig’d ended hours ago, didn’t they have homes?

“They know I’m taken.” Merlin wiggled his hand, ring glinting as he kissed Arthur’s pout. “They’ll leave.”

“Hmmm,” Arthur drew his husband closer; Merlin was his, and Arthur hated sharing him.

“I’ll just-” Merlin slipped away and stepped onto the balcony. Arthur knew the second the crowd glimpsed movement, cheers erupting.

This was _their_ time and suddenly Arthur can’t take it anymore; he’ll show everyone precisely to whom Merlin belongs.

Leaning on the balcony wall waving down to the crowd, Merlin felt Arthur’s nimble fingers at his waist, unlacing his pyjamas, unseen from below and Merlin shivered as Arthur teased the soft curl of his cock.

“Arthur!” Merlin’s eyes bulged.

“Keep waving,” Greedy hands pushed flannel off jutting hips to the floor, Arthur stepping close and grinding his clothed groin against Merlin, pushing him into the wall with effortless propriety, trapping him between rock and hard cock.

“You’re mine.” Some dark feeling within him burned to the surface, a feeling of desperate possession, hands tightening on Merlin’s hips.

“We’re outside! Paparazzi–people’ll _see_!”

“See you’re mine.”

Arthur’s palms stuttered along Merlin’s sides, cupping the sparse curve of ass, fingers rubbing Merlin’s hole.

“Ar-”

“Say it,”

Merlin’s head tipped back onto Arthur’s shoulder, shuddering when Arthur nosed his throat.

“I’m yours.”

“Again,” Arthur demanded.

“I’m yours,” Merlin chuckled, “lemme put my pants on!”

“They can’t see a thing from there; vague shape with ridiculous hair.” Arthur’s breath heavy on Merlin’s nape.

“You think they can see your hair?” Merlin snarked.

“If you’re gonna be like that...” The heat down Merlin’s back disappeared, a rush of cool air washing over him as Arthur strode away.

“Fabulous,” Merlin muttered, kicking off his pyjamas. He stared over the railing for a minute; was the crowd bigger?

Playful fingers had Merlin jumping, a not-at-all-a squeak lost into the night. A glance down revealed Arthur, naked, sliding between his legs.

“Keep waving,” Arthur instructed calmly, kissing down Merlin’s cock, hands dancing over Merlin’s skin, ghosting over that gorgeous ass to palm heavy balls.

Merlin waved as Arthur kissed and licked across his stomach, tonguing the shiny-wet head of Merlin’s dick, each touch too much and not enough.

“Them down there,” Arthur growled, throat rough with want, though in his lust-mad haze Merlin detected a vulnerability to his husband’s voice, “ _all_ want you. You think I’d ever allow it?” He tongued up the length of Merlin’s cock as wet fingertips tapped a rhythm on his hole before pressing unforgiving knuckles into Merlin’s perineum.

“Fuck!”

Arthur smirked, focusing his movements as his other hand stripped Merlin’s cock, the slick sound of it lost to the roar of the crowd, Merlin sobbing Arthur’s name as they screamed his.

It wasn’t enough; Arthur needed to _take_. Arthur released Merlin, ignoring the muffled sob from above, sliding two fingers into his own mouth, leering around them at Merlin’s glazed expression, slipping them free to walk them behind Merlin’s balls to his hole, breaching him without preamble, crooking his fingers deep in that gorgeous ass, adding a third quickly.

“Public portion of the evenings over,” Arthur snapped, yanking Merlin down and out of sight before rearing up and pushing Merlin to his back, entering him in a glorious slide, splitting him open with a deep-hot stretch. Something in Arthur snarled in satisfaction, frenzied thrusts punctuated with a growled _‘mine’_ as they fucked, savouring Merlin’s moans and the lewd wet sounds of their bodies meeting. It won’t last, nothing this intense does.

Merlin’s overwhelmed; with the thick weight of cock within him, Arthur’s wild, exposed gaze, and possessive curl of strong arms under his back. With the feel of his cock riding Arthur’s abs, and scrape of brick at his back through sweat-drenched tee; he felt _mounted._

“Come in me, come in me,” Merlin babbled, utterly wrecked, lips seeking Arthur’s in sloppy, desperate kisses, urging him on, Arthur’s teeth bared as he buried himself within Merlin, triumph burning over his skin.

Merlin was quiet when he came; a gasp and warm come between their stomachs. He clenches down on Arthur, wringing out his release, desperate whines escaping Arthur as he ground his hips into Merlin’s ass, teeth clamping into Merlin’s shoulder. Long after it became too much, Arthur humped into Merlin, a warm sense of contentment at claiming his husband blooming.

Merlin smiled, tired and debauched, hands finding Arthur’s, lacing their fingers together.

“You’re mine,” he vowed.

They lie together long after the crowd has left.

* * *


	7. Group C (clean)

**#43**

Watching Arthur through the two-way mirror, Morgana can't deny that her half-brother is attractive. Especially like this, standing with his chin raised in defiance and blue eyes blazing with anger.

He's still wearing trousers, but they took everything else when they prepared him for the ritual. Black runes curl across Arthur's arms and chest now and Morgana's eyes glide over his body appreciatively, the knowledge that it's her magic marking him such surprisingly arousing. Maybe she'll have some fun after everything is done.

But first they have to complete the ritual. Arthur will help them – quite unwillingly – to initiate the last remaining warlock in the way the Old Religion demands. Merlin will come into his power and together they will bring magic back into the world. The signs are right; Arthur is just a means to and end. It's one of natures worst mistakes that all warlocks are Omegas, needing an Alpha to reach their full potential. What was meant to protect, led to slavery and almost distinction, but today that's going to change.

''Bring him in,'' Morgana whispers the command. She's quite looking forward to the show.

\---

Arthur whips around when the door to the room opens and Merlin stumbles inside. The warlock is naked, skin flushed despite the cold and already deep in the fever of his first heat. His scent hits Arthur like a living thing, and Morgana sees her brother's eyes widen. His nostrils flare and she imagines how his blood must come close to boiling in his veins.

As realisation dawns, Arthur tries to draw back, but there's nowhere to go and the lure of the naked Omega before him is just too strong. A minute later Arthur's on the floor, holding Merlin in his lap and biting at the tender skin of the boy's neck, growling when Merlin whimpers in need.

Morgana bites her lip, watching Arthur's fingers travel down Merlin's spine and into the valley between his cheeks.

''Yes, Gorgeous, right there. That's what you want...''

Instead, Arthur pulls back. It obviously costs him, but he grabs Merlin's face, forcing him to meet his eyes.

''Who are you? Why are you doing this?''

But Merlin is too far gone, writhing and clawing at Arthur's chest in his desperation.

''Please...please... it hurts.''

He bares his neck in an unmistakable sign of submission, and that's all it takes. Arthur is lost. He pulls Merlin into a bruising kiss and then turns him around, pushing him to the floor. On his knees now, Merlin's pert bottom is raised like a bitch in heat and Morgana watches as Arthur pulls his cheeks apart, exposing the boy's hole, where the smell is strongest and he's already wet and dripping.

As he bends down to lick along Merlin's cleft, Arthur suddenly looks up and he _can't_ see her through the mirror, but his dark gaze is directed right at her. Her breasts tingle and wet heat pools between her legs. She watches her brother thrusting two fingers into an eagerly moaning Merlin and slides a hand down her belly, breathlessly stroking herself through the silk of her panties.

Arthur grabs Merlin's hair then, pulls his head up until he, too, is facing the mirror with his back arched and his mouth open and panting. There's a challenge in Arthur's eyes as he lines up and roughly impales Merlin on his cock.

He rams into Merlin's cunt, fucking the boy hard, and Merlin squirms, trying to push back and force the Alpha to go faster. But Arthur holds his hips with bruising force, as if he wants him to know who's in control - wants _Morgana_ to know who's in control – and Morgana lets out an angry hiss as her orgasm hits her. Oh, he has _no_ idea who he's up against.

They come together, Merlin with his cock untouched and pliant in Arthur's arms now, slumping against his broad chest. Still buried inside of him, Arthur soothingly strokes Merlin's damp skin. There's a strange affection in his eyes.

But then the door opens again and Morgause steps into the room.

''It's done,'' she declares with a small, cruel smile. ''You better kill him now, Merlin, while he's still weak.''

Merlin looks up. His eyes are burning with his new found power and Morgana holds her breath. Arthur will die now.

Instead there's a guttural shout and the mirror shatters, shards falling like rain around her. When she looks up again, her sister lies on the floor unmoving and Merlin is staring right at her.

''Don't you _dare_ to harm him,'' he growls. ''I am his now.''

* * *

**#44**

"How old are you?" Arthur asks.

When the boy doesn't answer, Arthur puts one gloved hand underneath the boy's chin, hoisting his face up to have a look. He sees pale skin and huge blue eyes, their pupils blown wide in panic.

"This winter will be my sixteenth," the boy whispers. Arthur wouldn't give him more than thirteen, but this is how they are; the little malnourished peasant boys outside of Camelot are all skinny arses and bony knees.

Arthur sighs. At least the knights have made an effort to bring him as old as they could find. The rules are unbreakable though—the vessel must be pure for the Earth Goddess to accept the sacrifice. He wonders how much magic there is in the boy, and if it will be enough.

The ground underneath their feet is dry, the yellow, brittle grass cracking under his boots when Arthur moves back.

"Do you know what's going to happen, boy?" Arthur asks, slowly taking off his gloves. He hands them to the nearest knight, a dozen of whom are forming a circle around the sacred ground.

The boy nods. He's so calm, Arthur wonders if they’ve drugged him before preparing him for this ritual while bathing him and oiling his skin with scented balms, painting his wrists and chest with holy runes.

"Your name?"

"Merlin, Sire."

"Give me your hand, Merlin."

When the boy shivers at the sight of the silver blade, Arthur turns him around and wraps one hand over the boy's naked chest, holding him still. He cuts Merlin's skin right above the wrist, where the blood will run fast and pure but won't have trouble healing. Red drops fall to the ground.

“Let me,” Arthur says, curling his fingers around Merlin's limp cock, bringing it to hardness with quick, skillful strokes. The boy must spill to feed the earth. Besides, it'll be easier for him to accept Arthur later.

Merlin comes almost soundlessly, only shudders and stuttering breath indicating he’s spent. Arthur pushes on his shoulders and the boy kneels. It makes Arthur’s breathless for a moment, seeing those plump lips so close to his cock. But this is not what the ritual demands, so he makes Merlin lie down on his stomach with his knees curled up under his body.

"I see they've prepared you well." Arthur groans, feeling the boy's hole oiled and stretched for him.

The first thrust sends sparks along Arthur's body. He grips Merlin’s hips, trying to calm himself, to not show weakness in front of his knights. The boy whimpers and Arthur grits his teeth, going slowly until his cock’s twitching deep inside the boy’s tight hole.

He stands later, next to the holy fire, watching the knights go one by one. They’re thrusting hard but none of them is brutal. Still, once they're done, the boy's left on the ground panting and disoriented, leaking seed into the dry soil.

Arthur knows he shouldn't, but he's the king and no one can forbid him. He unclasps the silver pin of his cape and wraps the boy in red fabric. He weighs almost nothing when Arthur lifts him off the ground, carrying him to his chamber. He lays the boy down on the bed and fetches a goblet, holding it to his lips.

“This is sweet mead. For strength.”

He climbs on the bed and spreads Merlin’s legs. They boy's hole is swollen and gaping, still slowly oozing the seed of all the men. Arthur thumbs at the puffy pink flesh, gently rubbing a bit of the foamy release into the rim. Then he bends down and kisses those skinny buttocks, dragging his tongue towards the hole and lapping at the seed.

"I'll eat you clean, sweetheart. You'll feel better."

Merlin's mouth is open, the tip of his tongue visible when he licks his lips.

“Please, Sire.”

Arthur sucks on the bitter seed and wraps his hand around the boy’s straining cock. He pumps a few times while jabbing his tongue inside. When Merlin cries out Arthur smiles, because this time it’s only for him.

He can already feel the power rising in the wiry body of this boy. The candelabras and plates are rattling on the table. Merlin lies still with his eyes closed, sweat dripping from his temples. Outside, thunder booms and rain pours down, feeding the greedy earth. The sacrifice has been accepted.

“You’ll be mine,” Arthur says as he covers Merlin with blankets. “My warlock.”

* * *

**#45**

Mr P, Merlin’s PE/History teacher, deserved a lesson. Lately he’d been driving Merlin bonkers with all the subtly flirting back. Merlin could’ve ignored it (really), except then he just couldn’t anymore. Because, God—you didn’t say, “There’s something about you,” without meaning anything by it, even if you seemed shocked by your own words right after.

Merlin needed a plan. And while the plan ‘pretend to collapse in a corridor before Mr P’s eyes’ wasn’t brilliant, it worked.

By accident, the corridor in question was one with only a closet. Merlin mumbled something about needing to sit down when Mr P came running. Out of the nearby closet peeked (equally accidentally) a chair.

As soon as Mr P stepped inside, Merlin shoved the chair outside and closed the door.

Mr P immediately whipped around. “What—?”

Leaning against the door, Merlin said significantly, “I was hoping we'd have a _private_ tutoring session.”

Mr P spluttered. “Merlin, you know this isn’t—”

 _Oh, no. You’re not doing that_. “There's something about me,” he said boldly, staring Mr P down.

Mr P was a prat but no liar. He paled, avoiding Merlin’s gaze. He remained that way, letting Merlin wait, nervous. At last Mr P glanced up. Once his eyes met Merlin’s, they stayed there. He was wearing that same soft gaze like always when he looked at Merlin thinking no one saw. “Merlin,” he said, quietly, “we can’t. You’re my student, and—”

Merlin actually laughed from relief. “I’ll graduate in a month,” he reminded Mr P, grinning. “And if you don’t help me out here I’ll probably fail my exams. My hand won’t work anymore due to... well. Um... overworking... my wrist.”

Mr P’s groan became a strained laugh. “You’re impossible,” he said. Merlin’s chest clenched at the fondness in his voice.

“Well, I mean, technically nothing happens if you just...” Merlin swallowed. “If you just, just talked and—didn’t touch me.”

Mr P stilled. Merlin, biting his lip, let his hand travel down, keeping it at the top of his thigh. The entire atmosphere shifted when Mr P nodded, slowly.

The _snik_ of the zipper was obscenely loud. The hardness of Merlin’s prick was obscener; it was leaking precome already, eager. Merlin felt crazy, felt powerful, stroking a hand up his length, making Mr P lick his lips. “Is that the something about me?” he asked, hushed.

Mr P looked up, lips parted. He stared, one moment, two. Then it was a flurry of, “Yes,” and, “ _No_ ”, and, “I just—”

“I know,” Merlin said, breathless. So he _was_ right. He swallowed, had to keep talking to make this easier. “I’m—I’m a good boy, Mr P. Figured that out all on my own. Like, like the good, clever boy I am.”

“God,” Mr P said. “Your mouth—”

Mr P’s face was flushed. His hands were fists by his sides, his trousers _tented_. A shock of heat bolted through Merlin’s body at that, leaving behind goose bumps. Hazy, Merlin thought, _he likes it_ , and then he was already saying, “Am I a good boy,” tugging harder on his cock, harder, faster.

“Merlin—”

“Mr P, tell me—tell me I’m—”

Between one blink and the next, Mr P was right in front of him, his palms against the door, one on either side of Merlin’s head. He didn’t touch, but he looked down Merlin’s body, at Merlin’s cock, long and curved, while looking crazed, _wrecked_ , himself, brows heavy, jaw clenched. He was breathing calmly, deeply. “Arthur,” he said roughly. “If you’re a good boy, you’ll call me Arthur.”

“Arthur. Arthur, yes, I—”

“My good boy is honest,” Arthur muttered. “Tells me what he wants. Are you my good boy, _Mer_ lin?”

Merlin’s hand was a blur on his dick; he was so wet his furious wanking produced squelching sounds. “Yes.” His next breath was replaced by a groan as the fantasy burst forth: “I want you—you fucking me, over your desk, where anyone could come in, and see—” He choked. “—see you fucking me, oh, God—”

He imagined it: Arthur’s broad body bent over his skinny, younger one, a thick cock in his arse, pounding forceful, fast, _good_ —and, God, yes, did he _need_ that—

Arthur, tilting his head, murmured, “Such a good boy.” The words were a hot exhalation against Merlin’s skin, pulling it taut with a delightful, slow ache; their physicality shocked Merlin into orgasm, and he stuttered, “oh, oh, _oh_ ,” when he came.

* * *

**#46**

If ever there were a time to take Camelot, it would be now. Not with a secret foray to penetrate its borders (after Caerleon's brave, reckless fashion), no, but a massive, undefeatable force to descend on castle and queen. To engulf her, overwhelm her, make her kneel and choke and succumb. As, deep down, Guinevere must long to do.

Instead, Annis leads a visit of state. Perhaps she's getting soft in her old age, but while Arthur was king she began to believe they all might live in peace.

In the aftermath of all Camelot's chaos and death, the five kingdoms seem to hold their breath.

If ever there was a time to take a young ruler under her wing, it is now.

"Sir Leon's a fine lieutenant," she says, after the due honours have been paid, and the knights and servants have retired, leaving the two queens alone in the great hall. "Intelligent, loyal. You'll want to keep him close."

"I'm grateful to have him, still." Guinevere's voice is flat, her gaze empty.

Annis strokes her cheek and asks, "Have you taken pleasure since you lost him?"

"Have I –"

"You understand me, Highness."

"I love no one else."

Annis nods and turns to the wall, the display of a pair of crossed swords. She pulls the heavier one down. "This was his, yes? I believe I've seen it before…"

"Give it to me," Guinevere spits.

"Gladly." She hands it over at once, and then cups her own groin with a loose fist. "I only suggest that you make good use of it."

"That's ridiculous. It's obscene."

"Taking grain from peasants is obscene. So is commanding one human being to kill another. These are things we've learnt to do. Pleasuring yourself?" She shrugs. "It hurts no one."

Annis sits on the queen's throne and spreads her legs, opening a little space along the edge, just enough room for Guinevere's shapely arse. "You don't have to look at me," she says, "you don't have to like me. But come and sit with me for a while. Take some advice from an older sister who knows something about grief."

Guinevere says nothing, but after a moment she obeys, still gripping Arthur's sword.

"Did you ever sit with your king like this?"

She feels Guinevere's muscles flex between her thighs, her breath catch in her chest, and a whisper, "Yes."

"You'll never have him again, and no one like him," Annis says, caressing Guinevere's skin, then slowly gathering up the fine fabric of her gown. "There's no way around that emptiness, that ache. If you take a lover, you must have great care… even if you don't want his prick inside you. Any man who gets close to you will try to own you, because he wants to own Camelot. And you _must not_ let that happen."

"All the men I ever cared for are dead, or… lost to me. And I don't want a woman either."

Annis lets herself smile, recalling the pride of her own youth, the certainty. She wraps a hand around Guinevere's on the grip of the sword, and brings the pommel to press – gentle, firm – against the queen's warm, bared cunt.

"You took strength from him once, Guinevere. Take it again."

Guinevere shakes her head. The thick fall of her hair is more exquisite than Camelot's satin or Caerleon's fur against Annis's cheek. "Arthur's strength was never in his sword. It was in his heart."

"It was both." Annis's voice is sharp as her mind flashes on a few of the thousands of ways she's imagined her husband's death.

Guinevere gasps when Annis works two fingers between her folds. "Let it in, Highness," she says softly, and helps Guinevere open her legs wider, one knee bent up over the arm of the throne. Guinevere rocks the hilt up and down until the pommel slips inside her, and together they draw it in, slowly in, until one end of the gross-guard touches her clitoris, the other rests against her arsehole.

"I can't –"

"You can," says Annis. She presses the metal against Guinevere's nub and _holds_ , holds her fast until Guinevere breaks on a sob and falls limp in her arms.

When Guinevere's breath is steady again Annis carefully helps her to pull out the sword, to grip the wet hilt with both hands, to stand on her own feet. Guinevere's face is wrecked and gorgeous and hard.

"It is yours now," Annis promises. "All of it is only yours."

* * *

**#47**

Merlin slipped behind a column, biting his lip and reaching a hand down to squeeze his cock through his pants. He couldn't stop shifting around, constantly fearing that warm, golden liquid he had become so familiar with.

Arthur needed him to deliver an envelope to the Lord staying in the West wing, and he was late to pick it up. But as soon as Merlin walked into that room, Arthur was going to know.

He was going to know Merlin was getting desperate.

Merlin looked longingly down the hall in the direction of his rooms, and more importantly, his chamber pot.

However, taking a deep breath to steady himself, Merlin turned and made his way into the hall where Arthur had been conducting business all day. His quick pace alleviated some of the pressure, or possibly just took Merlin’s mind off of it. Whatever the case,

Merlin was grateful for the respite; although he knew it wouldn't last.

He paused in front of the double doors, collecting himself and stilling his fidgeting body.

Opening the door, Merlin announced, “Excuse me, Sire, I’m here to pick up the missive for Lord Gregor.”

The room was surprisingly empty; the seats at the round table vacant save for Arthur, who was leafing through several documents.

“Rather late, aren't we Merlin?” Arthur inquired dryly, not looking up from his work.

Merlin shifted, he couldn't concentrate on their usual banter, all he could think about was his aching bladder, and how easy it would be for him to just let go right here, and the expression Arthur would wear if he did…

“Well, if you’ll just give me the letter, I’ll be as quick as I can. Sire.” Merlin said in his best impression of a polite tone. He didn't have time for a lecture, he was starting to sweat, the pressure mounting with every moment.

Shifting his hips didn't help anymore, there was no position or way to stand that reduced the pressure, Merlin was at his limits and he knew it.

Suddenly there were arms wrapping around him, and a warm body fitting along his back. Arthur always knew, Merlin thought as he leaned back, resting against him.

Maybe there was one position that helped.

Arthur murmured, “How long has it been?” his warm breath ghosting over the shell of Merlin’s ear.

“N- Nine hours,” Merlin breathed, tipping his head back onto Arthur’s shoulder. It was the longest he’d gone, considering the amount of water Arthur graciously gave him over breakfast.

One of Arthur’s hands snaked down Merlin’s waist to hover over his lower abdomen. Merlin tensed, and cried, “Arthur, no! Don’t-”

Ignoring his pleas, Arthur pressed down directly over Merlin’s full bladder, pressing, pressing- the pressure growing, and Merlin didn't know how long he was going to last, he could only gasp Arthur’s name, half sobbing, and writhe against him.

Arthur’s other arm reached down into Merlin’s pants, grabbing his cock and stroking him quickly into hardness. Merlin moaned, grasping the arm around his waist, which was now practically holding him up.

Arthur stroked his cock slowly, circling the head and teasing the slit. Merlin panted frantically, beyond aroused, but not sure if he needed to come or piss more. He widened his stance, letting Arthur slip a leg between his own to support him.

Merlin thrust into Arthur’s grip on his cock one moment, and strained backward the next, grinding back against the hard prick he could feel rubbing against his ass.

The dual urges warred in his mind, somehow his aching bladder just served to heighten his arousal, and make every stroke of Arthur’s hand against his cock feel magnified, his sensitivity heightened to an almost unbearable degree.

Arthur nosed along Merlin’s neck, placing open-mouthed kisses along the column of his throat. “Come for me, Merlin,” he whispered, voice pitched low and sensual. Merlin moaned brokenly as all his conflicting urges came to a head, and he honestly didn't know if he was going to cum or piss.

But with one final twist of Arthur’s wrist Merlin’s orgasm was ripped out of him, pleasure blasting through his whole body, Arthur pumping every drop of cum out of him.  
Immediately after Merlin was pissing on the floor of the great room, still moaning as he soaked his and Arthur’s legs.

Arthur was furiously grinding against Merlin’s ass, still holding Merlin’s cock but not making any move to direct the stream away from them. He came with a groan muffled against Merlin’s neck, and they both sank to the floor next to their mess.

* * *

**#48**

***

Arthur does it unthinkingly.

“Here,” he says, tossing the coat at Merlin as he’s about to leave for the night. “I had a new one delivered this morning, you can keep this one.”

Merlin catches it and rubs the red fabric between his fingers.

“Thank you,” he says. “I’m always grateful for your castoffs,” he adds cheekily. Arthur rolls his eyes.

“Good night, Merlin.”

***

Arthur didn’t anticipate it would be a problem.

But Merlin looks so _good_ in the coat that so obviously belonged to Arthur. Well-worn as it is, it’s still far nicer than any of Merlin’s other clothes. It sits too big on his shoulders, and a little too short.

It makes Merlin look like Arthur’s, in a way that does unexpected and distressing things to Arthur’s heart.

And his cock.

***

“Just take it off,” Arthur eventually says. “The coat, I mean. You can’t possibly be cold,” he adds, when Merlin stares at him.

“You can’t tell me what to wear,” Merlin says, rolling his eyes. “Even if you gave me the clothes. I thought you’d grown out of your prattish ways, but apparently they’ve taken a new direction. Honestly, ordering - ”

He kisses Merlin just to make him stop talking, and because Merlin’s lips are red and plump. He doesn’t even think about it. Before he can panic, Merlin laughs into it, and then he’s in Arthur’s space, pressing close.

“You like me in your clothes,” he says. “I knew it. I’ve seen you watching me.” Arthur smoothes his hands up under Merlin’s shirt.

“I’d prefer you out of them altogether,” he says.

Merlin trips in his haste to get to the bed, stripping his clothes as he goes, and then there’s acres of pale skin for Arthur to stare at. Arthur licks his lips.

Merlin sits on the bed.

“Are you just going to look?” he asks. He moves further back, parting his legs ever so slightly. And then he gets this _look_ in his eyes.

He picks up the red coat from where he dropped it on the bed and slides it on.

“Better?” he asks and gods, it hits Arthur low in the gut, Pendragon red against Merlin’s skin.

Arthur steps closer, pulling off his shirt and kneeling over Merlin on the bed until Merlin’s back is flat on the bed and he’s gazing up at Arthur.

“You’re mine,” he says, and Merlin smiles.

“If you want,” he replies, something serious in his eyes.

Arthur kisses him, pressing him back against the bed, dropping his weight into the cradle of Merlin’s thighs, and it isn’t long before Merlin’s rubbing up against Arthur, rocking into his still-clothed hips.

“Off,” he says, when Arthur’s mouth moves to his neck, kissing the line exposed by the collar of the coat. “Take them off, I want - ”

He fumbles Arthur’s laces open and Arthur kicks them down, and then it’s Merlin’s hand around his cock, the touch enough to make Arthur groan.

“I just need - ” Merlin starts, and wriggles out from under Arthur so he can lean off the bed and produces a vial of oil. He takes Arthur’s hand in his, pouring some of the oil onto Arthur’s fingers. Arthur’s heart thumps.

Merlin lies back down, thighs parted, and guides Arthur’s fingers inside himself. Merlin is blood-hot and tight around him, and his thighs shake when Arthur thrusts his finger up just right.

Arthur could do this for hours, drinking in the noises Merlin makes, but before long, Merlin’s making impatient noises, and Arthur can’t deny him anything.

Merlin feels incredible around him, and there’s no chance Arthur will last as long as he’d like. He gets his hand on Merlin’s cock, jerking hard and fast until Merlin cries out, spilling over Arthur’s hand. It only takes a few more thrusts to follow, and he comes, forehead pressed to Merlin’s, breathing against his parted lips.

Merlin groans when Arthur slips out of him, and Arthur can’t help but part his thighs again, drawing his hand, still slick with Merlin’s come, down to touch at Merlin’s wet, used hole. He slips a finger in experimentally, and Merlin’s hips jerk up.

“Too much,” he groans. Arthur draws his finger out, spreading the mixture of their come down Merlin’s thighs. He likes the sight of himself on Merlin’s skin, the wet tracks evidence, like the coat, that Merlin belongs to him. He rubs it into Merlin’s skin a little and Merlin laughs shakily.

“You’ve made your point,” he says, and Arthur crawls up his body and kisses him, the rough texture of the coat strange against his overheated skin.

“I’m yours,” Merlin says, eyes crinkling at the corner. Arthur believes him.

* * *

**#49**

"You can't be serious." Morgana was incredulous. Morgause was truly being absurd.

"Sister, you must let me help you." Morgause was completely serious. Morgana had been unable to sleep from intense night sweats for the past couple of weeks and Morgause had proposed a ritual to rid her of her problem. The reason Morgana was in a state of disbelief wasn't the fact that Morgause had proposed a ritual, but what the ritual entailed.

"Do you want to rid yourself of this demon or not?" Morgause crossed her arms and looked pointedly at her sister.

"Well yes of course but what you are suggesting sounds so.....dirty!" Morgana huffed and felt a blush on her cheeks.

"It is a natural part of life my dear. You should not be ashamed." Morgause took Morgana's trembling hand and led her to the circle she had prepared in the center of the meadow. She guided Morgana to sit down. There was a chill in the air and the grass was wet with dew but Morgana sat in the middle of the circle made of smooth rocks from the bottom of the lake of Avalon.

"Release yourself to nature, Morgana. Take off your robes and lay down." Morgause began lighting the candles surrounding the circle and Morgana did as she was told. The grass tickled her bare skin and the dew did not help the chill, but Morgana decided that she was not entirely uncomfortable. She felt her nipples peak and her skin rise into gooseflesh but she did not mind. The gentle wind that began when Morgause was finished lighting the candles was not cold, but warm like an embrace.

"I ask you now, Three Goddesses, to assist me in releasing the energy that has grown inside of Morgana for many weeks." Morgause reached for a satchel of water.

"We must cleanse you, my dear." Morgause poured the water over Morgana's naked body. Morgana noticed that it was caressing her body in warmth and shivered from the unexpected pleasure it brought between her legs.

Morgause smiled gently, noticing Morgana's reaction to the water, and pulled out a bejeweled knife.

"Do not worry sister. I do not mean to harm you. The Three Goddesses only ask for a small sacrifice for their help." Morgause lightly ran the dagger over Morgana's neck down to her breast, making Morgana gasp. When Morgause reached her hip, she pressed the dagger against Morgana's skin, drawing small beads of blood. Morgause let the blood drip from the dagger onto the grass next to Morgana, where she noted it sank into the earth quickly.

"Now they will help us." Morgause smiled and pulled a polished knob of wood out of her cloak. It was long and thick and Morgana quivered, having no doubt of what was to come. She was ready, her cunt already slick and willing from the earlier ministrations.

Morgause pushed the knob inside of Morgana gently, letting her get used to the feel, before beginning to rock it in and out. Morgana writhed and keened and felt her body _glowing_. Morgause smiled and leaned down to place her lips on Morgana's, capturing her moans.

"Yes, my love, let the energy flow from you. Release it to the earth!"

Morgana felt the tendrils of magic flowing on her skin and lightly caressing her body and she was not sure if they were from her or Morgause, but she did care for it felt wonderful. She knew she was going to climax soon so she grasped onto Morgause's shoulder and bucked her hips into the air to get the wood to go deeper.

When she came, her eyes glowed a brilliant gold and the meadow filled with specks of light. She felt exhausted but smiled at her beautiful work. Morgause covered her with her robes that she had discarded earlier and kissed her forehead.

"Now you may finally sleep, my love."

* * *

**#50**

Morgana shifted restlessly in her bed. She sighed in annoyance as she looked across the dimly lit room at her sleeping dorm mate. She was always there when Morgana got out of her classes and it had been driving Morgana insane. She hadn't been able to fuck herself for a month, the entire time she'd been here and she was craving it. She needed to feel something longer and thicker than her own fingers to filling her up but Gwen was always in their dorm and she hadn't been able to find the privacy.

Fuck it, she thought as she threw the sheets off her and quietly walked over to her dresser. She opened it carefully and winced when the drawer squeaked. She looked back at Gwen's bed, hoping that the noise hadn't woken her up and smiled slightly when Gwen was still sleeping soundly. Thank god she's not a light sleeper, Morgana thought. She reached into the back of the drawer and pulled out the silk pouch that she'd hidden in the corner. Morgana promptly closed the drawer and walked back to her bed, fingers clenched tight around the pouch. She shivered in anticipation as she felt the ridges through the thin material.

She climbed into the bed and placed the sheets around her, in case Gwen did wake up. Morgana quickly slipped her panties off her hips and brought her knees up to get the sheet up and off her crotch. She opened the pouch and drew out her trusty ridged blue vibrator. Her breath hitched as she moved the vibrator down one thigh and let it slip between her lips she rubbed it back and forth for a few seconds spreading her wetness around.Then Morgana reached down with her other hand to rub at her clit as she pushed just the tip of the vibrator inside.

Morgana bit the inside of her cheek to keep in the moan as she slid the vibrator all the way in. She let it rest there for a minute as she played with her clit, letting herself clench around the vibrator and feeling the ridges. Morgana loved this, loved feeling full.

She slowly pulled the vibrator out and her feet pushed against the bed and her hips bucked up to meet the vibrator as she thrusted it back in. Morgana fucked herself on it quickly, her grip on the vibrator getting less secure as her wetness spread and her fingers slipped. She accidentally pushed one of the vibrators buttons and Morgana couldn't stop herself shouting a curse at the sudden stimulation.

The vibration was loud and she quickly turned the vibrator off. She nervously looked over at Gwen's bed hoping that she had managed to sleep through the noise. Gwen's eyes met her own and Morgana froze.

"I-- uh..." Morgana fumbled for the words that wouldn't make this even more awkward, but Gwen just smiled at Morgana and shook her head. "Oh," she said in surprise when she noticed that one of Gwen's hands was inside her pajama shorts and the other was up her shirt.

"Do you want some help with that?" Gwen asked so quietly Morgana thought she might have imagined it, but she nodded her head and Gwen pulled her hands out of her pajamas and walked over to Morgana.

"Oh, fuck," Morgana groaned out when Gwen lifted the sheet away and sat between her splayed leg.

"Is this okay?" Gwen asked softly as she tapped the base of the vibrator. Morgana moaned and nodded and then Gwen was fucking her in long slow strokes. Morgana reached down again to rub her clit and her hips shifted as she pushed down into Gwen's movements, trying to get her to fuck her faster. Gwen smiled at her and took the hint.

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck," Morgana cursed when Gwen suddenly turned the vibrator on and Morgana's orgasm crashed over her in waves.

Morgana opened her eyes when she finally came down from her high and Gwen was leaning over her. Morgana smiled and pulled her down for a kiss.

* * *

**#51**

It was a dark and fuzzy night, Merlin having snatched Arthur right out of his bed and not given him any time to put in his lenses. It was somewhere near the top of Arthur’s list of problems, right behind his lack of socks and subsequently cold feet, his full bladder, and being strung up like a juicy upside down salami in an abandoned hangar.

“You can’t treat me like this – I’m the crown prince. My father’s men will be looking for me as we speak, and they will show no mercy.”

Merlin tugged on his cape; it billowed dramatically behind him as he approached. To his credit, he didn’t trip over it this time. “Well, now, that’s just rude. All I’ve done is elevate you to your station, _your highness_.” He gestured upwards to where the rope dangled from the ceiling, and added, “Mwahaha.”

“What the hell was that?”

Merlin scowled, pursing his lips. “My evil laughter.”

“That was terrible – ”

“I’m still practising, shut up.”

“ – also not what I meant. Oh, there’s the cavalry – ”

“Rats!” said Merlin, and dissolved into a nest of rodents scurrying over the floor and diving into dark corners, their moustaches all the while twitching evilly.

*

“It’s _French_.”

“It is,” said Merlin admiringly. They were perched atop the Houses of Parliament. Arthur was starting to rethink the whole spandex costume thing – he was having a hard time breathing, and it was uncomfortably tight in certain places. Merlin’s mouth kept twitching as he eyed Arthur up and down.

“You’ve turned all the Union Flags into French flags?” Arthur said with horror.

“Nooooo,” said Merlin. “Just the ones in the United Kingdom.” He cackled. “Someone’s going to have a busy morning. Not that that’s any of your concern, oh, anonymous superhero.”

Arthur flushed, but the costume covered it up nicely, so there. “It just seemed like appropriate attire under the circumstances.”

“Wait, did someone forget to inform me we were shooting a porno again?”

“Oh, shut it.” Arthur sighed. “It doesn’t have to be like this, you know.”

Merlin’s shoulders slumped for a moment, and he smiled tiredly. “It does. Your father is responsible for my father’s death, I turn evil and hunt you for the rest of our lives in retribution. That’s how these stories go, Arthur, don’t you ever read?”

*

“It was an accident!” Merlin said for the sixth time.

“We’re stuck. _In a drain pipe_.” Arthur was awfully hot in his flimsy costume. Who knew it was so warm underground?

“Well, it’s not like I’m enjoying this, so a little less snottiness, and a little more help, please.”

“That’s not the impression I’m getting.” He needed some fresh air, that was all.

Merlin shifted awkwardly in the tight space. “Don’t take it personally.”

“Well, it’s personally poking me in the thigh.”

“… It’s a natural defence mechanism. It’s trying to stab you, see? Raaaargh!” Merlin said and proceeded to stab him.

Arthur rather thought he regretted it, judging by the choking sound that followed.

Presumably the biting was also part of Merlin’s attack on Arthur’s person, and if Arthur decided to rock his hips against the warm body pressed to his, it was only to get him off. Off him, to be clear. And if anyone thought he was lying, well, it was very dark in here, and no one could prove anything.

*

“This has gone too far, Merlin.” Arthur dripped quietly onto the rock. He’d rescued five people after his father strolled into the sea and the tide came in rather unexpectedly fast.

Merlin looked pale. He handed Arthur a towel. “I’m sorry. But your father betrayed mine, and now I’m all alone. I’ve got to repay him for that, don’t you see?” He was shaking.

Arthur put a gentle hand on his shoulder. “You know, you never told me what happened to your mother. How did you lose her?”

Merlin wiped at his eyes. “She’s in Ibiza. She likes it sunny.”

“You know, I remember you.” Arthur smiles. “Visiting Buckingham Palace.”

“You were extremely rude to me. I didn’t know that area was restricted.”

“There was a sign, Merlin. It was pretty big. And it didn’t stop you from returning, did it? I thought I had myself a little stalker.”

“ _Did not_. I just like the palace. National monument and all.”

“Then come visit it with me, sometime. We’ll switch around all the portraits. It’ll drive my father crazy.”

“You have no imagination,” said Merlin, but as it turned out, he did, and Uther was quite puzzled why the portraits ended up looking so scandalised.

* * *

**#52**

_Oh,_ Will thought, as he stumbled into the bathroom to find Arthur with his hand fisted around his cock, stroking himself to hardness. _So that’s what those sounds were._

He crept backwards for a stealthy exit, but hit the door with his back instead. Startled by the sound of the door creaking shut, Arthur whipped around and spotted Will, and by all rights the story should’ve ended right there.

Only, Arthur didn’t stop. His hand kept sliding over his length, over and over, his teeth sunk into his bottom lip to keep himself quiet. His eyes were locked on Will’s the entire time.

I should go, Will thought. He stepped forward, pressed up against Arthur’s back, and replaced Arthur’s hand with his own.

“What are you doing?” Arthur gasped. He reached forward, braced himself on the edge of the sink.

“I’m helping you get off, you idiot. What the hell does it look like I’m doing?” Will huffed.

“But you don’t even like me!”

“I get the feeling you’re not my biggest fan, either, but you don’t seem to be complaining.”

Precome leaked out of the head of Arthur’s cock, proving Will’s point. Will spread it across Arthur’s length, teased it into his balls with a light, teasing touch that had Arthur fucking up into his hand desperately, his ass grinding back into Will’s clothed erection after every thrust.

“Look at yourself,” Will ordered, on a whim.

Arthur’s head dropped immediately, and fuck if it didn’t go to straight to Will’s cock how Arthur obeyed without a moment’s hesitation, even if he had gone about it the wrong way. He had the sudden urge to find out how far Arthur would let him take it.

“I meant in the mirror above the sink, dumbass,” Will said, scornfully.

Arthur’s fists clenched, and for a heartbeat Will was disappointed at the thought that he had pushed his luck already.

But then Arthur straightened and raised his head, tilting his chin up in almost cocky manner as he watched himself through the mirror.

It was an excellent attempt at bravado. Will might’ve believed it, too, if it weren’t for the beautiful blush coloring Arthur’s cheeks. Shame was such a good look on him. Will wanted to see more of it, and, well, if it took Arthur down a notch- showed him his place- all the better.

“Good boy,” Will praised, watching carefully for Arthur’s reaction.

Arthur closed his eyes, turned his face away as if to hide from the words.

Will pulled his hand off, ignoring the way Arthur whimpered at the loss, and moved it to the back of Arthur’s neck. He gently turned Arthur’s head towards the mirror again, holding it in place.

“Please,” Arthur whispered hoarsely. “Please, I need-”

“What?”

Arthur said nothing, simply giving Will a pleading look.

“I’ll take care of you,” Will promised. He trailed the tip of his index finger down Arthur’s spine, traced it over the curve of his ass until it rested firmly against his hole. “But first, you have to ask for it.”

Will watched a range of emotions flit over Arthur’s face- disbelief, outrage, humiliation, and finally, defeat.

There were tears in his eyes when he asked Will to fuck him, and they continued to flow while Will did just that, patiently pushing into Arthur until he was a broken mess beneath him.

“You’re mine now,” Will murmured into Arthur’s ear, as he shoved into Arthur with a particularly hard thrust, sliding in as far as he could go. “You’re my good boy.”

Arthur shuddered, his eyes shut tightly as he came with a cry, and Will thought it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

* * *

**#53**

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful girl.

Gwaine knew that was how all stories started, but he couldn't think of any other way to say it.

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful little girl who never wore dresses. She insisted on being shirtless when the boys were shirtless. She learned to pee like a boy because if standing was good enough for her brother, it would be good enough for her, too. She only danced to the sounds of classic rock, and on her sixth birthday, she ran around naked for the entire day because it was what she wanted (that, and her clothes kept disappearing).

Arthur, her brother, thought she was more trouble than she was worth, and as Arthur's friend, Gwaine was supposed to agree. But really, Gwaine didn't understand how Arthur could complain about having a little sister who was so cool.

“I mean, what's so bad about her?” Gwaine asked. They were fourteen, babysitting the six-year-old Morgana. Babysitting, as in letting her eat enough chocolate to kill a small animal and keeping her entertained with movies.

“She's an omega,” Arthur said simply.

“So?” Gwaine asked. “Omegas can't be cool?”

“She's not _cool,_ ” Arthur sneered. “She acts like an alpha. It's...not attractive.”

“I bet,” Gwaine said, smirking, “that you'll end up with the least omega-y omega on the face of the planet.”

Arthur scoffed. “Yes, and you'll end up with the _frilliest_ one.”

Two years later, Arthur met Merlin (the clumsiest and most fashion awkward omega of all time), and Gwaine was proven right. Gwaine was proven right again when Morgana grew up to be the most popular omega in her school, despite her love affair with jeans and boots and wifebeaters tanks.

Arthur, however, was wrong about Gwaine. He didn't end up with the frilliest omega. He didn't end up with one at all. By the time he was twenty-four, all of Gwaine's friends were mated and happy, and Gwaine was still alone. While most of the other people his age on the planet had found a mate, for some reason biology or destiny or whatever kept Gwaine from finding his.

Some days he was okay with it. Some days he wasn't.

It was his lack of mate (and family in general) that led him to spending Christmas at Pendragon Manor with Arthur's family every year. He spent the day helping Merlin and Arthur cook, spent dinner trying not to lock eyes with Arthur's terrifying father, and usually he spent half the night telling Morgana dirty stories on the living room couch, where he would later fall asleep.

But that year, Morgana had gone to bed early, claiming she was sick, so Gwaine stayed up by himself, fiddling around on his phone, before calling it a night and going to sleep. He had dreams that turned from Christmas lights to snow monsters to angels who smelled like heaven.

He woke up to someone straddling him.

The heavenly smell from his dream stayed as he blinked awake and realized that the smell was an omega, an omega _in heat,_ an omega named Morgana.

“ _Ana,_ ” he groaned, putting his hands on her hips to stop her from grinding on him.

Even in the dim lighting from the multi-color christmas tree, Gwaine could see that she was flushed and worked up. Her black hair was in messy waves, and the only thing she was wearing was a long-sleeved oxford pajama top, partly unbuttoned and falling off her shoulders. She was beautiful, but she was also sixteen and his best friend's sister.

But somewhere in Gwaine's mind, it all made sense. Omegas only went into heat after sixteen, and then only after they found their mate. Gwaine hadn't found a mate yet, not because of shitty luck, but because he'd already found his mate long before anyone else. He just hadn't known it yet.

In the morning, he sent Arthur a text that said,  
 _Morgana's with me. She went into heat. Thought it would be less awkward fucking at my place.  
Merry Christmas! Xoxoxo_

The next time he checked his phone, he had over 200 missed calls.

And he didn't care.

At all.

* * *

**#54**

Gwen’s not afforded much privacy -- certainly not enough to be completely sure no one will walk through the doors -- but that’s all part of the game, really. There’s a hot swell of something in her belly when she thinks about it, about what anyone might see, might think, finding her like this; it’s not quite pleasure and not quite shame, and it twists uncomfortably when she meets her own gaze in Morgana’s mirror.

These aren’t her rooms. It’s not her bed that she’s spread out on, her knees nowhere near together enough to be ladylike. It _is_ her knife between her fingers, though: well-cared for, the small blade sharp as the day it was made. It’s a lady’s knife, delicate, with a filigreed handle, and it is her favorite. It looks well here, against her skin and Morgana’s bedding, and she draws the flat of it slow across her ribs until it rests beneath her left breast, watching it in the mirror, the small imperfections in the glass distorting the picture just enough to make her dizzy. Anticipation is buzzing down her spine, dancing out across her elbows and the soles of her feet, setting her naked body tingling. She presses a little harder as she draws the point of the knife expertly around and up her breastbone, biting her lip as she sees the scratch bloom up against the skin.

There’s a noise from the corridor, and Gwen doesn’t jump, the knife cradled steady in her hand. She squeezes her eyes shut for a moment, closes her teeth harder on her lip until the pressure is too much. The bedding beneath her is damp; her thighs are slick. She reaches for herself, opening her eyes again to watch -- one hand curving just around her inner thigh, as if for balance, while the other pressed the knife flat against her other leg. There are fading scratches here -- it’s safe, where no one will see and ask questions. She’s drawn maps to guide her own fingers in deep, fucking herself while the sting of the knife yanks the floor out from beneath her more effectively than any sorcerer.

She’s already close today, straining to hear any hint of movement at the latch, but the door stays shut and her knife moves slow, deliberate, scratching a careful row of lines up her thigh toward her cunt. Her hair sticks to her forehead in tendrils. She doesn’t have to look in the mirror to see the sweat beading along her nape and the creases of her body. She pushes further into her touch, into her knife: undone, unable to articulate how it feels, how nothing else has ever been able to match what this brings to her. There is pleasure, yes; a rich and plummy sort of feeling, filling her like a too-ripe fruit warmed in the sun, and the pain wraps thin and delicate around it, pulling her taut until her skin splits beneath it and she spills.

She’s gasping now, her arms trembling, and she leans back to spread her knees further, open herself wide so she can watch as she touches herself, fingers sliding in the slick and spreading it in desperate trails across the inside of her leg, the knife following eagerly behind. She flicks the blade -- not enough to draw blood, never quite that far -- and gasps at the sharp jab of it, slaps the flat of the blade against the spot before the giddy thrill fades. She feels debauched, indestructible, and when she comes it’s with her eyes fixed on the slackness of her face in the mirror, the way the shock ripples through her in a wave as she thrusts two fingers deep, the knife clenched in one sticky hand.

* * *

**#55**

“No one goes in there without my permission.” Arthur ordered Leon closing the door to the room behind him. He turned the lock, slipping the key onto a chain around his neck and tucking it under his shirt.

Leon nodded in acquiesce asking softly “Sire, what do you plan to do with her?”

Arthur dragged a hand through his hair “I don’t know yet.”

He was still dealing with the revelation that Morgana was his sister.

 

***

“Sssh” she whispered against his neck, her leg wrapped around his waist and her back pressed against the wall. Arthur bit back a groan, pressing his body tightly against hers listening as voices drew nearer to where they were partly hidden in the alcove off the ballroom. His hand was under her skirt and his fingers inside her. His back blocked her from view but it would be quickly be obvious to onlookers what they were doing.

It was a risk they had taken both having drunk too much and say too close. It was the first ball Uther had allowed them to attend.

Whoever it was walked right past the open door and Arthur breathed a sigh of relief against her neck.

Morgana laughed, rolling her hips against his hand encouraging him on.

He rubbed his thumb over her loving the way she soaked his hand and rutted against her “We should be more careful, you could get a reputation.”

She laughed pressing a kiss to his neck “I don’t care.”

 

***

“What’s wrong brother dear,” Morgana asked her voice mocking and bitter. She sat near the window, her hair in loose curls around her shoulders and the dress she wore new and unwrinkled. She looked weak, the spell Merlin had cast around the room had cut her off from her magic and Gaius had warned him this might be one of the results of that.

Merlin had magic, so did Morgana, and his father was dead. In the span of a week Arthur had become King and had captured the one person he cared for the most.

“Did you know?” he asked her staring out at the darkness of Camelot. The view was familiar, before Arthur had decided there needed to be distance between them he’d spent more time in Morgana’s rooms then his own.

He’d wanted to lessen the pain for them both.

“No,” she spat out anger returning to her eyes.

 

***

She was a warm weight on top of him, her head on his chest and her fingers trailing up and down his arms. He squeezed her closer closing his eyes and savoring the moment as long as it would last.

“We can ask him again.” Her voice was soft, pained.

“He won’t budge.” Arthur kept his eyes closed, his grip tightening.

“But why not, I am his ward. Why should we not marry?” she was as confused as he was about it. Arthur had expected it since the moment Morgana had come to live with them. Uther had pushed them together, insisting they get along.

“I imagine he has other plans for me,” Arthur twirled her hair between his fingers “at least you will give a choice, he promised.” Uther would arrange Arthur’s marriage to the highest bidder, Morgana at least would get to marry a man of her choosing.

 

***

“You didn’t kill him.” Arthur pointed out to her.

She just shrugged, turning away from him “I didn’t do anything to save him.”

“Why?” Arthur asked her softly and Morgana turned to him.

Her eyes still burned with rage but there was a sadness to them. “Because he would have had me killed,” Morgana walked towards him and out of the corner of his eye Arthur saw Leon tense, hand held loosely on the hilt of his sword.

Arthur kept his relaxed at his side “He wouldn’t have, not you.” And Arthur knew why now, why Uther had wanted to keep Morgana so close to them.

“He killed thousands others like me,” there was certainty in Morgana’s voice “I couldn’t just stand by and let him.”

She stood before him and Arthur searched her face, his hands where gently as he cupped her check “No, that’s not it. Not completely.”

She didn’t waiver, didn’t apologize, and just told him her voice firm “My choice was you.”

* * *

**#56**

Everyone had awaited his arrival like the welcome of a king.

The Druids were grouped at the entrance of their forest, dressed in the finest linens reserved for ceremony. He had stumbled towards your people, confused, mumbling about needing help, somewhere to hide, barely escaping.

You watched him behind your father, hiding, scared. The stories your father told you—of warriors saving their villages, maidens being rescued, and monsters defeated—were only stories. Their heroes weren’t real; they didn’t appear in your life like a god becoming flesh.

They weren’t sent to live with you and your father, the only two people who had space for another.

“You shall respect him,” your father had said, making _respect_ sound like _worship_ , “and you shall love him as your brother.”

As a child, it was easy to love him as a brother; to forget that he is _Emrys_ , the savior of your people. You shared a wall of the tent with him, facing each other at night and telling stories, planning your mischief for the next day.

As you age, it’s no longer so easy. To love him, yes. As a brother, no. You knew, from the day you became uncomfortable changing together, that things had changed. You were betrayed by your own self; against your wishes your eyes followed him, drinking in his body with an ever-parched throat. Now you cry, in anger, in shame, as your hand moves quickly up and down, up and down, behind a tree away from the others at night.

Sleeping next to him is now a terrible torture; nowhere to turn, nowhere to move. Even the tiniest shifts only make your elbows and knees touch more. You think he could accidentally brush against the pleasure you couldn’t diminish and you’d be found out, that’s how close you are.

How close you are to being found out.

There is only so much you can do before your passion devours you. You follow him around because being away is simply unbearable. Everything is _yes, Emrys_ ; _no, Emrys_ ; _whatever pleases you, Emrys_ , when you’d like nothing more than to be his yes, never no, the only thing that pleases your precious idol.

For he is an idol most certainly.

To be around him is a heady experience of its own; to be surrounded by such powerful magic is an alluring intoxication, a pleasurable asphyxiation. You feel it on your skin, and watching his eyes flash golden at even the smallest tricks flares an arousal so fierce you think you may implode at a mere glance.

The night before the dawn ceremony they send you to bathe him, prepare him for the ritual where he will be reborn as one of you. And yet, not one of you. For he is still _Emrys_ , after all. As you help him into the cool lake, though, you wish he were anything but one of you. For perhaps then you wouldn’t feel shame and desire, wanting and worship roiling inextricably in your belly. His nude body, so pale and lithe, amidst the dark waters of the lake and towering trees, makes him seem like a small child. Not fit for the destiny your people have been promised; too seemingly weak for the burden of a terrible fate.

But the magic that simmers beneath is enough to remind you he could break you, the buzzing getting louder as his cheeks redden, embarrassed to be naked in front of you. He wasn’t born a Druid, he doesn’t view nudity as naturally as you or everyone else. Well, except you. Because his nudity is unlike everyone else’s. No one else’s naked flesh makes your whole body burn, a tantalizing fire, the unfurling and raising beneath your clothes.

He is looking at you. You know it even as you focus on dragging the cloth along his arm, scraping away dirt that isn’t there. It’s too quiet and you drag the cloth up and then down, up and then down, your hand gripping it too tightly. But then he’s gripping you too tightly and the motion is repeated—up and down, up and down—and he is scraping away the shame that is inside, exposing the dirt you tried so hard to cover up. Now the dirt is everywhere and you are the one who needs washing, but he doesn’t use a cloth or help you. He leaves you behind in the lake, reminding you he is _Emrys_ and you are no one, not even a brother.

* * *

**#57**

The music was a subdued rumble in the closet, not even the viciously flashing lights that were rudely attempting to challenge the New York City skyline could penetrate the darkness. Morgana’s back hit the wall with a thud and whatever clothes were hanging up next to them tumbled to the floor in a messy heap at their feet. The guys’ hot hands slid over her hips to smooth up the fabric of her micro mini and she tried hard to stifle a laugh at the sensation of his mouth on her thigh, partially because it tickled but mostly because of the situation.

_“What do you mean you’ve never played Seven Minutes in Heaven? Not even once?”_

Of course she hadn’t. Uther’s only daughter, adopted or no, had never been allowed to frequent parties in her teen years unless they were debutante balls. She had to sneak out to find her fun and more often than not it usually wasn’t exactly the harmless kind. The first time she’d ever played Spin the Bottle was at 16 after escaping the cops at a human rights rally with some local college students and they’d used a celebratory bottle of Jack. She had lost her virginity that night

His hands reached her panties and Morgana sighed, happily buzzed. She’d downed the shot Morgause gave her before allowing herself to be led to the closet and after about 3 minutes of childish fumbling the guy they’d stuck her in here with was finally doing something interesting. He slid the lacy bit of cloth down and off, lifting one of her legs up onto his shoulder before pausing possibly for her to snap at him for his presumption but she never did. Instead she the laughter she had held back became a rich chuckle, her hands sliding through the thick silk of his hair.

The chuckle became a soft gasp as his longue unerringly found her clit and smoothly, wetly slid his tongue around it in careful circles. It was almost unnerving how intent he was in sucking and licking her open. Before long Morgana was a shuddering mess, nails digging into his shoulder like claws as her body burned and throbbed on his mouth. She was well on her way to a vicious, but strangely empty orgasm when he broke away from her with a gasp of his own and she was unable to stop herself from cursing him.

He stood with an infuriating laugh of his own before he lifted her. Pinned her to the wall to slide inside her one tight inch at a time. The thickness of him seemed to satisfy the ache she felt and after only a few slow, measured thrusts she was ready to scream at him for holding back.

She was forced to snarl at him, dig her nails deeper to make her point before he obliged and finally began to move, fast and hard. It tore these small, helpless noises from her that grew and grew into loud ragged screams as the pleasure grew and grew inside her until it had no place to escape but from her throat.

His body shook against her as he thrust, obviously holding back his own orgasm as she writhed on the blood hot hardness of his cock. Neither of them were aware of the closet door opening, the shocked gasp, until the bass roared over them like a wave perfectly timed with their rhythm. It wasn’t until she was on the knife's edge of orgasm that the gleam of flaxen blonde hair caught her eye but by then it was too late, she was already screaming her release.

“Arthur? _ARTHUR--_!”

There was only the slightest of pauses in his movements as she shivered and her body spasmed around him before he gave two more hard, deliberate thrusts and came.

* * *

**#58**

They have always been well matched.

+

“Again, Arthur,” the swordmaster says.

Morgana raises her blade, taking up her starting position. Arthur checks his feet placement against hers before returning his eyes to his tutor, who looks annoyed, but continues to pretend Morgana isn’t there.

+

Arthur’s tourney record is perfect because no one counts a defeat if it’s delivered by a woman.

+

Morgana doesn’t hold it against Arthur. He’s the only one who will deign to spar with her, after all, and since he is the best of his men Morgana is content with their arrangement.

Sometimes, when she leaves the armoury after a bout, she can hear Leon come in to chastise Arthur for a brute.

It subdues him until the next time she pleads him out onto the yard, ‘ _just some light swordplay, Arthur, honest,_ ’ and promptly kicks him into the dust. Then he’s back on his feet, fire in his eyes and laughter ringing over the clash of their blades.

+

She wears borderline scandalous gowns to tease Arthur with her skin and enrage Uther with her bruising — a spectrum of purple and green, and all of it glorious.

+

He first betrays her when he fully adopts the mantle of manhood.

When ‘Prince’ becomes a solemn duty, when _man_ means keeping the company of other men and treating ladies as jewels to guard and protect, he leaves her behind, believing it’s for her own good, no matter her opinion.

No matter that he once trusted her when she insisted she could protect herself.

+

Arthur takes the throne because no one counts a birthright if the claim comes from a woman. Morgana is nothing, a witch in a hovel — solitary keeper of the knowledge that she is _better_ , she has always been better than all of them.

+

They fight again in a cave, in the dirt, silent but for the shriek of sliding blades until Morgana has him backed into a corner, her short sword at his throat.

“You know better,” she hisses, “than to hold back with me.”

“You still leave your left side open,” he says, closing his eyes at the feel of her blade riding his Adam’s apple.

“Some things never change,” she says, letting her hand drop from her grip. Her sword hovers under his jaw while her fingers light on his chest, fiddling with the ties of his tunic. He freezes under her touch. “Still sparring, are we?”

“You’re at a bit of an advantage,” he says, making her head tip back with laughter.

“I always was,” she says. “You never needed more than a flash of breast to stumble, Arthur.” She’s almost fond, brushing his fringe out of his eyes, leaning into him. “Do you remember those days?”

“You’re my sister,” he says stiffly, refusing to touch her, even to push her away.

“Don’t be so cold,” she says, passing the back of her hand across his groin. “There was a time you dreamed of this, I know.”

“Morgana,” he begs, recoiling into the smooth rock at his back when she sinks to her knees. Her sword follows him, making him choke on his protest as she pulls his cock from his trousers.

“So handsome, brother,” she purrs, dragging the soft head in the dip between her breasts until his body responds, helpless. “I once dreamed of this, too.”

She tucks him into her cheek, rolling him across her tongue. His reluctant hardness stiffens rapidly, making her hum. She can hear him gasping above her, fingers scrabbling into the wall, retreating with nowhere to go.

It’d ruin him to discover she’s given her mouth in trade before. It’d gouge his sense of duty to know she landed on her knees when Camelot tossed her out — but that’s not what this is about. Let him wonder where she learned how to swallow a man deep, to rub at his balls and press a finger just behind them, teasing pleasure pleasure pleasure with sweet lips and a devilish tongue.

Even the great King of Camelot will eventually whimper and spend with shaking legs.

Morgana rises to her feet like a queen, thumbing at the corner of her mouth. Arthur’s head is turned from her, his cheeks wet, blood dripping from the shallow cuts at his neck.

She catches his chin between her fingers and forces him to look at her before she spits his release in his face.

+

They have always been well matched, but between them, only Morgana never flinched from a killing blow.

* * *

**#59**

Morgana’s cloak whispered over the damp grass as she approached the cave. Light emanated softly from within. One last glance over her shoulder, to be sure she wasn’t been followed, and she went inside.

Morgause was standing over the fire, her eyes glittering in the orange light. “Sister,” she said.

There was a silent question there; Morgana raised her chin, and answered. “Everything is going according to plan. Camelot will be ours by spring.”

Morgause at last raised her eyes from the fire. “You’ve done well. And have you been good?”

At first she hesitated, still shy, even after so much time. Then, slowly, Morgana lifted her skirts, bunching them about her waist. The bronze and polished leather of her belt glistened in the firelight.

“Good girl,” Morgause murmured, running her fingers over the cool metal. “Good girl.” The spells within it sparked at her touch, unbroken. Morgana could break them – Morgause had taught her how, in case the need ever arose – but she never would. She would never disobey her sister.

At Morgause’s whispered word, the spells broke like a waxen seal, and Morgana breathed as she felt the belt slacken, the lock within giving way. Morgause eased the belt down her legs, letting it dangle about her knees, and ran her fingers across the damp flesh of Morgana’s thighs. She trembled, her fingers shaking where they gripped her skirts, but she held still. “You’ve been very good, sister,” said Morgause, “and you shall be rewarded.” She touched Morgana lightly under the chin, angling her face up, up to the roof of the cave.

Morgana looked upwards, and breathed as the metal of the belt chinked below her. She’d been so anxious the first time, anxious at being with another woman – not any woman, but her _sister_. But Morgause had made her see that this was right and proper. They were sisters, joined in mind and soul; why shouldn’t they be joined in body?

Morgause began to slide the belt back up, and Morgana braced herself for what she knew was coming, then made herself relax. The metal that pressed against her was oiled and warm from Morgause’s fingers, but still cool next to the hot flesh of her cunt. Morgause’s fingers dipped between her legs, angling it; then she pulled the belt into place and let metal slide into Morgana under its own weight.

Morgana squeezed her eyes shut, but stayed silent; Morgause hadn’t told her to not be silent. She relished the first few moments, while the metal was cold, before her body warmed it. It was a solid pressure inside her, stretching her out perfectly, as perfectly as if Morgause had cast it using her cunt as a mould.

Her sister cinched the straps tight, pushing it even deeper inside of her, and she bit her lip to keep herself from whimpering. Morgause’s hands were on hers, urging her to drop her skirts. They fell to the ground, concealing the belt from view, but Morgana could still feel it. She could barely feel anything else, anything but for the ground beneath her feet and the metal betwixt her legs and Morgause’s fingers upon her face. “There, now,” said Morgause. “Isn’t it sweet?”

It was; but not so sweet as Morgause’s kiss, soft upon her lips.

“Will you sit with me, sister?” said Morgause. Morgana sat, the warming metal shifting inside of her, pressing against hot, dark places. She sat with Morgause beside the fire, and listened as Morgause talked, of their plans, of what she must do next; and as they talked, Morgause’s fingers trailed through Morgana’s hair, wrapping strands of it around and around her fingers; and as they talked, the metal seemed to grow hotter and hotter within her.

“I understand,” said Morgana. “I’ll see it done.”

“Good,” said Morgause. “Good.” Their business done, she pressed Morgana down upon the floor of the cave and began to work the straps loose, loose enough to get her hand inside. Her fingers clasped about the metal phallus. “My sweet sister,” she said as she began to work it in and out, her lips a scant inch from Morgana’s. “My sweet. Sing for me.”

Morgana felt herself clench about the metal; and she cried out.

* * *

**#60**

Mordred ran his fingers through his hair. His heart pounded. Oh god, why had he decided to do this?

It had been six months since Merlin had broke up with him, moved on to some hairy bloke named Gwaine. Six months without sex.

The idea had been Kara’s. Call some prostitute with a 1-800 number to come and fuck him for a few hours- and a few hundred dollars.

He couldn’t breath when there was a knock at the door. He should just tell the guy he had the wrong flat, the wrong number.

Instead he opened the door. A tall, muscular, blonde man was leaning against the door frame.

“Mordred?” He asked. Mordred nodded slowly, moving out of the way to let the man in. He was probably in his mid thirties, at least ten years older than 21 year old Mordred.

“I-I’m sorry, what was your name?” Mordred stuttered, watching the man make himself at home on the in the living room.

“I’m Arthur.”

“Hi.” Mordred said warily. “So-um…”

Arthur laughed. “This your first time, kid?”

Mordred blushed. “First time having sex with a stranger? Yes.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve had plenty of first timers.” Arthur hovered over Mordred, toying with the hem of the younger mans shirt. He tilted Mordred’s face up, leaning a bit to give him a kiss. Mordred leaned into the kiss; it had been far too long since his last one.

“Where’s the bedroom?” Arthur asked, his breath ghosting over Mordred’s jaw.

Mordred didn’t answer, instead tugging Arthur to the bed, the pair occasionally stumbling on their way there.

Arthur pushed Mordred down onto the bed, kissing and biting at whatever skin was free before pulling Mordred's shirt off.

Kissing his way down the naked chest, Arthur undid Mordred's belt before pulling off his own shirt. He slowly pulled down Mordred’s trousers and pants; Mordred feeling more and more exposed with every inch removed.

Before he could even think, Arthur had slipped a steel cock cage onto his half hard cock.

“What are you doing?” Mordred asked quietly, carefully studying his trapped cock.

Arthur chuckled softly. “It’s just for a bit of fun, keeps you from getting too hard or reaching an orgasm. If you don’t like it.” He reached down to take it off.

“No!” Mordred said sharply. “I like it.”

Arthur smiled. “Good. Now do you have lube?”

“In the drawer.” Mordred motioned with his head. Arthur reached across the boy and pulled the lube out, quickly lubing up his fingers before slowly inserting the first one into Mordred.

“Oh god!” Mordred shouted. Arthur took a quick look up to make sure he was ok before continuing, stretching and lubing up the hole before pulling out a condom.

“From here on out, I’m in charge, got it?” Arthur looked Mordred in the eye. “You don’t like anything, I go too far, tell me to stop and I’ll stop.” He waited for Mordred’s answer before roughly taking him, making Mordred scream in ecstasy

Merlin had always been too gentle with Mordred, as if he were made of glass. But Arthur…

It wasn’t long until the blond came, his mouth making a soft ‘O’ before pulling out, unlocking the cock cage and taking Mordred down to the root, licking, sucking, tugging. He rolled Mordred’s balls between his fingers. Just when Mordred though he was going to come, Arthur would pull back, waiting for a bit before teasing the boy again..

It felt like days, weeks even to Mordred, but by the time he finally came, he realized they had only been playing for a few hours, Arthur’s time was up.  
Arthur disappeared into the bathroom, returning with a damp cloth and tossing it at Mordred before tugging on his clothes.

“I had fun tonight.” The man said, pulling his shirt of last. He pulled something out of the breast pocket, writing on the back and handing it to Mordred. “I never do this, but you’re cute. Maybe someday you’ll even be able to hold a conversation with me.” He waved. “I can see myself out.”

Mordred looked down at the paper Arthur had handed him. On one side, a business card, the number Mordred had called. On the other, Arthur had written what Mordred assumed was his private number, along with a little line of hearts.

* * *

**#61**

Seventeen years the magic mirror had lain hidden, languishing under a tapestry, caked with dust and frosted with cobwebs in a sunless chamber in the Queen’s Tower. When the last queen had died, beloved Ygraine, the grieving king had ordered her rooms sealed, the windows were barred, heavy drapes drawn, and three stout doors of strongest oak stood locked between her quarters and the rest of the castle. The king became bitter without his sweet wife to temper him, he was harsh with his subjects and made war on the neighbouring kingdom, with whom they had previously been good friends. It was said that the only time the king smiled was when he held his young son, he doted on the boy and would deny him nothing, but for the one thing little Arthur longed for most. He begged his father to be allowed to visit his mother’s chambers, to touch her trinkets and feel the silk of her dresses. To curl up in her bed. But the king wouldn’t have it and over time the prince learned to stop asking. He learned to discover his own way in.

Now, as I’m sure you know, a magic mirror in isolation is just a mirror. It must have a counterpart, a twin. And this particular mirror’s twin stood in the bedchamber of another young prince, across the mountains in the next kingdom. A prince who was currently making some discoveries of his own.

Merlin lay on a rug before the mirror, which hadn’t shown anything more than what was in front of it in years. He hooked his skinny thighs under his elbows and curved his neck up to peer at the reflection of his little pink hole, he’d just had three fingers in it, but it still looked tiny. Carefully he picked up the long, slender candle he’d rounded off with his knife and prodded it into his hole. The flesh dimpled, resisting for a moment before it gave and the muscle opened to swallow the bulbous end in a grasping, sucking movement. It dragged along his insides in a most pleasant way, and young Merlin grew bolder, plunging the device further and further in and setting up a good rhythm. So he was quite startled by catching sight of movement beyond the spectacle of his arsehole swallowing the candle, his first thought being that someone had entered his chamber, perhaps a servant, or his mother. Of course this could not be so, he’d bolted the door securely. In fact, as I’m sure you’ve guessed it was Prince Arthur, in far off Camelot, who had broken into his mother’s chamber and was busy exploring her possessions.

When he’d whipped back the tapestry hanging over the mirror his jaw had dropped and his heart had stuttered, because there, seeming not two feet from where he stood, was a red-faced, dark-haired contortionist, buggering himself studiously with a long candle, pale against the flushed ring of his arse.

Arthur fell to his knees in front of the mirror, he felt suddenly lightheaded, and rather heavy in the trouser, and was completely unable to tear his eyes away. So when his sudden movement alerted the boy to his presence their gazes met. They stared wide-eyed at each other for a moment.

Prince Merlin, perhaps high on the relief that it was not his mother who had found him, let his eyes drop first, licking his lips when he saw that the other boy was clutching desperately at his crotch. Slowly and deliberately he drew out the length of the candle, shiny with oil, and swiftly plunged it back in.

In Camelot, Arthur gulped, he could hear faintly through the mirror the slippery pulse of the candle as the boy pumped it steadily, and the soft pants of his exertion. Seeing that the boy was testing his nerve, Arthur carefully unlaced his breeches and slipped a hand around his cock, he frowned and met the boy’s eyes again as he pumped, both of them staring as they picked up pace and raced each other to completion. When Arthur came he sprayed the surface of the mirror, splashing over the image of the boy, who was removing the candle and stretching his limbs. Arthur reached out and dipped his fingers in his come, smearing it across the mirror, wishing he was smearing rosy lips.

Merlin smiled shyly and scooped up some of his own come, touching it to where Arthur’s fingers rested on the glass.

* * *

**#62**

** Shut Up **

“Well, this is cozy.”

“Shut up, Merlin.”

Normally Merlin would have shaken those words off like he had a thousand times before, but this time? This time it was all Arthur’s fault.

“Excuse me, _sire_ , but it was your idea to hide in the cupboard.”

“I didn’t expect it to have a lock on it!” Arthur hissed.

“Yours does.”

“Shut up.”

Yes, Merlin was fed up. They’d been in this ridiculously small cupboard for an hour, and it was getting hot. And sticky. And gods almighty, that was Arthur’s arse pressed against his –

“Merlin.”

“Yes, sire?”

“I’m hoping for your sake that the piece of wood pressing against my backside is part of the cupboard?”

“…..No, sire.”

“Right.”

The last thing Merlin expected was for Arthur to manage to twist him around, pressing his chest to the cupboard wall while attaching himself to his back. Merlin was just opening his mouth to say something about abuse of servants when a hand found it’s way over his mouth. He made a disgruntled sound, biting at the fingers.

“What are you doing – “ Merlin managed to get out before the hand returned.

“I said.” Arthur growled, his tone immediately making Merlin pause. “Shut. Up.”

Merlin managed to do what he was told for a few minutes, perhaps, but his curiosity always won out in the end. He nipped Arthur’s fingers again, twisting his head away.

“I don’t know how to play this game, Arthur.” He frowned, unconsciously stiffening when he heard his prince click his tongue.

“Oh, Merlin. I told you to be quiet.”

The next thing Merlin knew, he was on his knees. That, of course, made him chuckle as he looked up at his master and friend.

“Walking on my knees? Bit late for that, isn’t it?”

“As long as it gets some respect into you, I don’t care about how late or early it is.” Arthur said, voice low and surprisingly sultry. Merlin blushed lightly at hearing it. “You couldn’t be quiet, correct?”

“That kind of depends – “

“ _Mer_ lin.”

A sigh. “No, sire.”

“So you will require a punishment.”

“A _punishment_ – “

“ _Merlin_.”

“Bloody princes.” Merlin grumbled. “Fine, yes, punish away. What is it this time – an extra hour in the stocks?”

The smirk that found it’s way across Arthur’s lips was alarming to say the least. “Open your mouth.”

Merlin’s eyes widened. “To do what?”

“You, naturally.” Arthur said, as if it was the simplest thing in the world, as if it was completely normal to be trying to get your servant’s jaw open while unlacing your breeches, why was he doing that anyway -

_Oh._

Merlin looked up at Arthur with nervous but curious eyes, slowly letting his mouth fall open.

“Good boy.”

Merlin’s eyes only widened as Arthur’s cock was pulled out, the head almost touching his forehead in a moment of such complete absurdity that he almost lost it again. He kept it in however, merely tilting his chin up and keeping his mouth open. It was a movement Arthur seemed to enjoy by the way his thumb swept across his bottom lip.

“Perfect.” Came a soft whisper from above. Then Merlin’s mouth was slowly filling up, his tongue pressed to the underside of Arthur’s cock as he opened his mouth wider to accommodate his prince.

While Merlin might not be the best at picking up certain cues, he knew what the tug to his hair meant. Do something.

He did so gladly. Merlin let his tongue roam the underside of Arthur’s cock, his lips pursing as he closed his mouth around the intrusion, letting him suckle softly like a newborn at it’s mother’s teat.

“Merlin…”

He renewed his sucking; bring his hands up to hold Arthur’s hips as he bobbed his head. Those hands were slapped away, however, forcing Merlin to keep an unsteady balance as Arthur thrust his hips forward, trying to take him further each time. Merlin became sloppier as he fought to bring Arthur to his release, flicking his tongue decadently. His hard work paid off eventually, with the evidence dripping down his chin.

~*~

“You know, if you wanted to spice things up you could have just asked.”

“Shut up, Merlin.”

* * *

**#63**

The…exotic dancers had been impressive, to put it lightly. There wasn’t a person left who wasn’t shifting subtly in their seat, trying to ease the ache or shift away from the dampness.

But the one who had attracted the most attention was none other than King Arthur himself, with his obvious shifting and flinching, to the point where his sorcerer, Merlin, leaned over, with mirth in his eyes, and quietly asked, “Is everything alright, sire?”

Arthur’s glare could have melted glass, but Merlin remained wholly unaffected. Instead, he simply offered to help ready the king for bed once the night’s festivities were over and more than a few of the knights had been invited to warm the dancers’ beds.

“Really, Arthur, the merchant looked terrified. I bet he thought his dancers had offended you,” Merlin scolded, as he stripped the king down to just his trousers.

“ _You_ offend me,” Arthur sneered, his body still flushed from the feast’s performance.

“Yes, I’m sure I do,” Merlin replied distractedly, his attention more focused on unlacing Arthur’s trousers. He pulled the flaps apart and peered inside. “But what luck! I couldn’t have asked for a better means to see if the chastity spell worked or not.”

“It’s not as perfect as you hoped,” Arthur stated, more to burst Merlin’s bubble than anything else. “I still have some freedom to grow with interest.”

“How much interest?” Merlin backed away and began to shrug off his clothing. “Show me.”

Merlin’s buckle had barely finished clanking to the floor before Arthur was flinching in pain, magic flaring around his semi-erect cock and forcing it back down to a flaccid state.

Merlin barely gave it a passing glance. “Huh.” He walked over to the nightstand and retrieved a small vial of oil before turning around and settling back on the edge of the bed.

Arthur’s interest immediately piqued again and he immediately brought a hand down to squeeze himself back to softness before the magic could kick in. “Merlin, what are you…”

His question died on his lips as Merlin propped a leg up on the bed, opening himself up for His Majesty’s viewing pleasure.

A single finger slowly disappeared from view, and Arthur nearly leapt out of his skin at the sudden constriction of magic around his most sensitive body part.

“Maybe you should sit down,” Merlin suggested past his chuckles, his finger still working in and out in a steady motion.

Arthur dropped to his knees, gaze riveted as one finger became two.

“Merlin, take this off me. Take this thing off me right now,” he ordered through his clenched jaw, his hand fisted over his groin in a struggle to stop himself from swelling even the slightest.

“But sire,” Merlin objected, his eyes wide and innocent, “you were so eager for cage. You wanted to stay pure for the Lady Gui—”

“I was drunk and angry,” Arthur cut in, drawing in a deep breath as Merlin’s fingers slipped out to massage his sack. “Obviously not – not in a place to make good decisions.”

“Horny and desperate isn’t a good place to make decisions either,” Merlin pointed out, pulling out a phallic-shaped object from beneath Arthur’s pillow. “Pity, really,” he remarked as he examined the toy before reclining back and propping both legs up on the bed.

“Oh God,” Arthur groaned, red-faced and now using both hands to try and keep himself under control. “Merlin, don’t—”

It was the breathy moan that did Arthur in more than the sight of the dildo breaching his servant’s entrance. Pain wrecked through Arthur as his body fought tooth and nail to harden, to be capable of claiming what it considered his.

“Merlin— _please_ —”

A single word was hissed and throbbing desire was left to freely take over Arthur, allowing him to scramble to his feet and rip the dildo away. Pulling Merlin closer to the edge of the bed, he positioned himself and slid in with ease, a shout of relief heaving out of his chest. Desperate for proper relief from his hours long torture, Arthur rutted into Merlin like a dog in heat. A soft cry gave time to his thrusts, due to his muscles being too tense.

The grip he had on Merlin’s hips was sure to bruise, but Arthur couldn’t be worried about that. The only concerns flashing through his mind were bringing Merlin closer, shoving himself in deeper, going at it harder, harder, because he was so close, so close, almost, almost, yes, yes, yes yes yesyes _yes_

A white eternity later, he melted against Merlin, shivers of aftershocks preventing them from bonelessly relaxing together. Distantly, he registered viscous fluids smearing across his torso which each heaving breath they shared, but none of that was important.

What mattered was the way Merlin brought a trembling hand up to fist Arthur’s hair, to ensure his attention was captured when he muttered, “You’re mine.”

“Yes,” Arthur exhaled. “Yours.”

* * *

**#64**

"Fuck you," Merlin says, turning away from Arthur to scrub at a spot on the floor.

"Fuck you too," Arthur answers, voice tight. When Merlin looks up, Arthur is sullenly poking his sponge with his finger. Merlin glares.

Detention with Arthur was the worst, but then they had to scrub the locker room showers as well.

It was Arthur's fault. Merlin attacks a tile viciously with his scrub brush. Arthur was the one who pushed him in the hallway, and then Merlin purposefully knocked his books to the ground. But Arthur had been the one to shove him to the floor and try to sit on him. He hadn't succeeded, only because Merlin is stronger than he looks.

But they had succeed at getting themselves both into detention.

Merlin throws his brush in the bucket, water splashing everywhere. Oops.

A wet sponge hits the side of his face.

"Fucker." Merlin lunges for the bucket, but Arthur meets him halfway and the water ends up down Merlin's front and all over Arthur's left side.

Merlin glares so hard he's surprised Arthur isn't on fire.

"You started it," Arthur insists, and Merlin bares his teeth instead.

The door bangs open, startling them. They both spring apart as they recognize the sound of the varsity baseball team. Merlin looks around wildly for an escape, but Arthur grabs him by the bicep and hauls him into the open supply closet instead.

The air is hot and close in the closet, and Arthur is wet and soggy all up Merlin's front, but there's no telling what Coach Gauis would've done if he'd caught them soaking wet and fighting.

Merlin tries to take a step back and stops when he hits a mop. No need to knock that over. Arthur shuffles in front of him, but all he manages to do is rub their wet shirts together.

"This fucking sucks," Merlin whispers, and Arthur huffs in response, breath heated and moist against his neck.

Arthur's shorter than him, Merlin realizes. His eyes are just starting to adjust to the meager amount of light seeping in under the door, and he can see Arthur's face right in front of him.

Arthur starts squirming and Merlin grits his teeth. They are pressed way too close together, and the pull of the wet fabric of his shorts against his cock is starting to cause a situation.

"Stop moving." Arthur ignores him, trying to shift back, and then when that doesn't work trying to push Merlin away from him.

"Arthur!" Merlin grabs his hips and stills him. He hopes Arthur isn't paying too much attention, because his boner is pressed right up against Arthur's hip.

"Stop. Moving," he says between gritted teeth. "You're going to get us caught."

Arthur blinks at him in the darkness, glances down. Merlin's cheeks feel hot.

"Come on," Arthur says, and this time moves purposefully into Merlin. His hands grip Merlin's ass and Merlin can't help but whine as they push him forward, cock grinding against Arthur.

"You- Fuck." Merlin can't speak as pleasure settles low in his spine. And- yes, that is Arthur's cock rubbing against his thigh, his hips twitching and rolling into it.

"You know you want it," Arthur whispers against his cheek, digging his fingertips into Merlin's ass.

Merlin can't help it. He groans, thrusts three times into Arthur's hip, and comes, cock twitching in his shorts as he trembles against Arthur.

Arthur stills, supporting Merlin by the hips as Merlin blinks, knees weak.

The locker room sounds quiet now and Merlin tries the door.

He untangles himself from Arthur's grip, ignoring his protests, to check if the coast is clear.

The locker room's empty, so Merlin turns back to Arthur, who is pitching a very noticeable tent in his shorts.

Arthur glares.

"You wanna help me with this now that you got your rocks off?"

Merlin thinks about it, grins. He sprawls out on the floor and palms his dick through the fabric. He's still sensitive, but he won't be for long.

"No, but I'll be happy to watch."

The look that Arthur gives him could strip paint, but that doesn't stop Arthur from leaning back against the doorjamb and reaching into his shorts. He leers.

"Race ya."

* * *


	8. Group D (clean)

**#65**  
[](http://imgur.com/tYpt4J9)

* * *

**#66**  
[](http://imgur.com/JjjAtIa)

* * *

**#67**  
[](http://imgur.com/gFiwZJ2)

* * *

**#68**  
Honestly a little more _'Hello Sailor'_ and a little less 'Treasure Planet,' than intended. 

[](http://imgur.com/yvOi4Hh)

* * *

**#69**  
Percy and Gwaine are slacking off one night and have to quickly dive for cover when the prince and his manservant come slamming into the counsel chambers for round one. Trapped in the shadows, Percy and Gwaine are forced to listen to the whole thing from start to finish. 

[](http://imgur.com/nKvaRN1)

* * *

**#70**  
[](http://imgur.com/2skDjAj)

* * *

**#71**  
[](http://imgur.com/m9eIY8p)

* * *

**#72**  
Famed courtesan Emrys is called upon to perform for His Majesty’s pleasure.

[](http://imgur.com/CiiE4hx)

* * *


End file.
